


The Bones of You

by emmerrr



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Neil breaks his leg super bad, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, also andrew and neil are married in this because i SAID so, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmerrr/pseuds/emmerrr
Summary: "How is he?”It’s the million dollar question.“Once upon a time,” Andrew says slowly, “Neil negotiated a deal on your behalf. I need you to return the favour.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. So my perfect idea of Neil and Andrew's future is that they live happily and comfortably and that they have more good days than bad days but that even on the bad days they have each other so they're okay, and that Neil gets to play Exy for as long as he possibly can which keeps him happy, and Ichirou happy. But the little gremlin in my brain kept poking me and saying, "But what if something happened and he couldn't?" and that's essentially how this was born. 
> 
> I did minimal googling to check medical things and was told wildly differing stuff so PLEASE forgive me for the definite medical inaccuracies there will be, I have never broken a bone in my life. (seriously please don't @ me this is just a fic)

When all is said and done, it was always going to be the last game of the season for the Chicago Devils. It was a championship final, so one way or another, win or lose, they were going to be done for the summer. The only question was whether or not they would be going home empty handed.

This, Andrew can categorically say, was not how it was supposed to go down. As he stands before a surgeon in green scrubs and a white labcoat, he distantly realises he doesn’t even know if they won or not in the end. He’ll have to find out; Neil will undoubtedly ask.

All hospitals have the same vibe. There’s always an impending sense of dread, even if you’re only there for something minor, because circumstances can always change like _that,_ with the click of your fingers. People get better here, sure, but people also _die_ here. They get earth-shattering, life-altering news.

Dr Connolly is throwing a lot of information his way in a very short amount of time. A lot of words that Andrew’s heard the team pyshio pass around in warning and so he knows hearing them in this context doesn’t mean anything good for Neil and his status as a professional athlete. Then again, ‘complex tibia and fibula fracture’ isn’t good news for _anyone._ And an open fracture, no less. He belatedly wishes he’d taken Aaron up on his offer to be here translate all the medical speak, especially considering him and Katelyn even work in this very hospital. But then he’d have had to wait for Aaron to finish his shift, and he didn’t _want_ to wait. He wanted to _know._

Andrew interrupts Dr Connolly’s spiel to say, “Will he play again?”

This isn’t the most important question to Andrew, but it will be to Neil, and so it’s the one he asks.

“Mr Minyard, the priority right now is for your husband’s leg to heal. It is far too soon to think about his Exy career beyond that.”

Husband. It’s still strange to hear it out loud from someone who isn’t one of their very inner circle, but regardless, a wedding (such as it was) occurred, and they’ve got the marriage certificate to prove it. Having happened not quite four months ago, it’s a relatively new thing, and it’s also a _quiet_ thing; the media have not yet even cottoned on, or asked the right questions, and Andrew’ll be damned if they have to make an official announcement.

It’s not like they’re hiding it. They’ve both got the rings. But they are also the kind of people who walk around with hands buried in pockets.

It’s bound to come out now that they’ll undoubtedly be under more scrutiny and media attention. It doesn’t matter. At least it means Andrew gets unfettered access to Neil’s hospital room. He gets to know what’s going on without question. It’s the reason they got married in the first place.

Except it wasn’t _just_ that, was it?

Andrew looks over his shoulder through the crack in the door to Neil’s room. Neil’s still out for the count following his surgery, looking impossibly small in the hospital bed. His right leg is strapped and propped up in front of him, but not yet in a full cast because of his open wounds that still need monitoring. Andrew — thanks to his perfect recall — keeps hearing the snap of Neil’s shin, the horrified collective gasp of the crowd at the stadium, the ragged way Neil had said Andrew’s name. Neil’s face contorted in fear and pain is etched on the inside of Andrew’s eyelids, there to relive every time Andrew so much as blinks.

The backliner who knocked into Neil at full speed is called Kyle Jacobs, and it’s a name now seared into Andrew’s memory.

All those years ago, Andrew had been quick enough to stop Riko from bringing his racquet down on Neil’s skull. Today, he’d been able to do nothing but watch in abject terror, despite the fact that he was out of the goal and tearing down the court as soon as he realised that Jacobs was running towards Neil with no intention of stopping.

This is an entirely different situation though, and Andrew knows that even if it’s hard to compartmentalise right now. He was much closer at hand back at that Foxes vs Ravens final; the game was over, there were no obstacles in his way, nothing to stop him getting in between Riko and Neil. He _knows_ it’s not the same, and yet he can’t help but compare. What he and Neil have isn’t a deal, not anymore, not for _years_ now, but that doesn’t mean Andrew hasn’t still been watching Neil’s back.

Now? He feels like he’s failed.

Andrew turns back to Dr Connolly. “I’m asking if it’s possible for him to ever play again. I don’t care about the ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ right now, just whether or not it’s medically _possible.”_

Dr Connolly pauses, but in a way that makes Andrew think she’s giving his question an appropriate amount of thought, and he almost appreciates it.

“Provided Neil follows up with his post-op and physio instructions to the letter, then he _should_ be able to play again. However, it probably won’t be at the level he has been up to now. I couldn’t definitively say whether he’d ever be starting striker material again.” Andrew’s expression must do something, because Dr Connolly softens as she says, “I’m sorry, Mr Minyard. It’s a very serious injury.”

Dr Connolly is forthright at least, Andrew will give her that.

“How long will the recovery take?” he asks.

“For a break this severe, we’re talking eight months to a year. But that all depends on how well it heals. I have some concerns over potential damage to his knee as well, and any complications could add to his recovery time. We’ll know more over the next few days.”

Dr Connolly is clearly eager to get back to work, and as Andrew has no other immediate questions for her, he nods once in acknowledgment of what she’s told him and then steps back into Neil’s room, closing the door behind him.

He stands at the foot of Neil’s bed and listens to him breathe, allowing it to ground him to this moment, to Neil being alive and being cared for. It could be worse. It’s not the end of the world. Except it might be though, mightn’t it? Neil is so much more than Exy, but playing Exy is what keeps him alive. It’s what keeps him an asset to the Moriyama family, and at 28 years old, Neil should have had another five years plus at playing professionally. At minimum, Ichirou’s losing a year’s worth of earnings, but if Neil never makes it back at _all?_

It’s a question Andrew doesn’t want to know the answer to. It’s just a shame he _needs_ to.

Seeing Neil hurt isn’t something that’s become any easier over the years. Andrew had once thought that nothing would compare to that hotel room in Baltimore when he had removed Neil’s bandages and seen the burns and cuts that hadn’t been there the day before, but this comes pretty close, if only because of what it might mean for Neil’s future. 

There’s a chair pulled up close to Neil’s bed, but for the moment Andrew takes the one in the corner by the window instead. He gives Neil another once over, cataloguing the injuries from top to bottom. A mild concussion from his head getting knocked into the plexiglass, prevented from being more serious thanks to his helmet; there’s some bruising down his side and on his arm, but Andrew doesn’t know if they’re from that last hit from Jacobs or from any of the others Neil could have picked up earlier in the game. It had been a rough one from the get-go. And then, of course, there’s the broken leg. The worst nightmare of every athlete.

Andrew stares out of the window, watching the city lights twinkle. He’s not usually one for wishes because there doesn’t seem to be any point, but _oh,_ he _wishes_ they could go back to this morning and re-do the whole day. Neil could sub out in the second quarter and not be in that spot, at that angle, with all six feet five of Jacobs tearing down on him.

It doesn’t matter, because wishes don’t work, and Andrew’s known that since childhood. It’s done now. Even in the best case scenario Neil will still miss the entire next season, and probably half of the following one, too. Worst case, he’s done for good. Andrew wonders if what Neil has accomplished so far will be enough to appease Ichirou, or if he’ll simply cut his losses.

Andrew doesn’t see the point in worrying until worrying is his only option, but he can’t quiet the voice in his head that tells him Ichirou will kill Neil. After all, Ichirou is the head of a crime family, Neil’s a loose end who knows too much, and if it turns out he’s a loose end who now has nothing to offer? Objectively, it’s just good business sense.

It doesn’t seem like Neil’s in danger of waking up any time soon, so Andrew pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s been on silent for hours and he has a lot of messages, a lot of missed-calls, and a lot of voicemails. He ignores them all for now and pulls up the number he needs.

To his credit, Kevin answers almost immediately, but then again he’s probably been waiting anxiously by his phone. “Andrew. How is he?”

It’s the million dollar question.

“Once upon a time,” Andrew says slowly, “Neil negotiated a deal on your behalf. I need you to return the favour.”

Kevin inhales sharply. “Shit. That bad?”

“He’s out for a year. I need you to tell me you can arrange something so that when Neil wakes up I can assure him he doesn’t need to worry about that side of things for now.” Andrew doesn’t want to say Ichirou’s name over the phone; he doesn’t want to mention the Moriyamas at _all._

There’s a silence, but then Kevin says, “I can’t promise anything. I can bargain for time — for him to wait to make a decision on Neil — but I don’t know what else to offer.”

“Time will do for now. You can say that Neil and I will meet with them once he’s out of the hospital to figure something out, that I’ll pick up the slack while Neil’s out of commission, I don’t care. Just…get us some breathing room, if you can.”

Kevin breathes out slowly; a controlled action. “I’ll try and get in contact. Give me twenty-four hours, I’ll see what I can do. But Andrew—” He breaks off and sighs.

“What, Kevin.”

“What if it’s a no-go?”

“Then I’ll have to get Neil out of here as fast as possible.”

It’s not a feasible option. There’s nowhere they can go where Ichirou won’t find them, especially given how recognisable they are, not to mention the resources he has at his disposal. But Andrew will do what he has to to keep Neil out of harm’s way, or he’ll die trying.

Kevin knows as well as Andrew does how futile an escape attempt would be, but luckily he refrains from saying anything other than, “I’ll call you tomorrow when I have an answer.” He hangs up.

Before putting his phone away, Andrew checks the game’s final score, and then messages Renee just to let her know that Neil is out of surgery and in recovery. Despite the fact that she’s currently overseas, Renee’s the only one he trusts to get the word out to everyone who matters. Hopefully Andrew’s phone will stop blowing up with notifications, at least for a little while.

He doesn’t think sleep will find him easily as he curls up in the chair, but exhaustion drags him down eventually, prevalent enough to keep the nightmares at bay. He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, but he’s dragged back into wakefulness at his name tumbling out of Neil’s mouth.

Andrew’s not sure if he’s ever moved so fast as he all but launches himself to Neil’s side.

“Andrew,” Neil says again, croaky and disoriented, blinking heavily as he tries to find Andrew in the darkness.

“I’m here.” Andrew’s hand finds Neil’s, lets Neil’s fingers curl around his own. He sits in the seat by the bed and pulls it as close as he possibly can with his free hand.

As Neil stares up at Andrew, groggy and probably in pain, he asks, “Did we win?” and Andrew _hates_ him. Loves him. It’s all the same.

For the briefest of seconds Andrew considers lying, if only because it might make Neil sleep easier. But then again, he always expects the truth from Neil these days, and so he offers the same in return.

“Final score was 7-5, Knights favour.” It shouldn’t hurt to see Neil’s face fall, but it does, and Andrew gently squeezes his hand. “The Devils had to play without their lead-scorer or their best goalie for half a game. Of course we didn’t win.”

Neil clenches his eyes shut — whether it’s in disappointment or pain, Andrew’s not sure — but then he opens them again. It was a championship final, and Andrew knows that Neil wanted that trophy, junkie that he is.

“Next year,” Neil says, drowsy but determined. “We’ll do it next year.” Already he’s drifting again, and Andrew doesn’t have the heart to agree with him; it’s a lie that would sit too heavily on his tongue.

Instead, he brushes a kiss across Neil’s temple and falls asleep with his head pillowed on the edge of the bed, their fingers still intertwined.

 

***

 

The next time Neil wakes up is nothing like the first.

This time the realisation is there, of just what has happened, and just what it means.

There’s a panic attack. Actually, there’s two.

Andrew hasn’t yet heard back from Kevin and so can do nothing to reassure except to press his hand to the back of Neil’s neck, rub his thumb in soothing circles, and remind Neil to breathe.

It works because it’s _always_ worked, but yet the fear still doesn’t leave Neil’s eyes. Andrew can see the urge to run written all over Neil’s face, and oh, the fucking _irony_ that he couldn’t even if he tried. His leg strapped and immobile is a glaring taunt to that fact.

Aaron shows up when his shift finishes, knocking lightly on the door before pushing it open. Neil’s fallen back asleep, and Aaron stops at the foot of his bed to skim through his chart. Andrew watches the slight furrow in his brother’s brow as he reads, but other than that, Aaron gives nothing away.

After returning Neil’s chart, Aaron heads over to the chair by the window, sinking into it with an exhausted sigh. “So I guess the honeymoon is over,” he finally says dryly.

“We never had one,” Andrew replies, without really meaning to. “It was the middle of the season and we didn’t have time. We were going to go somewhere this summer.” Granted, they would have gone somewhere even if they _hadn’t_ got married; they always went places together in the off-season. It’s just that this particular summer they probably would have stayed in slightly nicer places than usual, or gone further afield. Just something to mark the occasion, to acknowledge the change.

Neil’s injury has scuppered quite a few plans.

An awkwardness crosses Aaron’s face, because he had clearly been making a glib comment to try and lighten the mood and probably wasn’t expecting Andrew to give him a real response. On any other day, Andrew might _not_ have. He’s so fucking tired.

Things are good with Aaron now, or at least as good as they ever have been between the twins. But that doesn’t mean that the two of them don’t revert to old habits sometimes, and their history means that it’s never going to be entirely plain sailing.

The difference now is they both make considerably more effort than they used to.

“We’ll sort Neil out with the best physiotherapist we can find, Andrew,” Aaron says, his tone almost reassuring. “We’ll get him on his feet again.”

Andrew nods slowly because, yes, that’s the plan. “On his feet is one thing. But will he play again? Like he did?”

It’s here that Aaron falters, and Andrew can see him warring with himself; the brotherly urge to comfort and reassure, and yet the medical training and knowledge that warns against doling out false hope.

“Kevin came back. After his hand,” Aaron offers.

“It’s not the same.”

“No,” Aaron allows quietly. “But it’s too early to know what will happen.”

“That’s what they keep telling me,” Andrew says hollowly.

Neil shifts in his sleep and the movement immediately draws Andrew’s attention. His hair is sleep-matted, but Andrew resists the urge to untangle it with his fingers. When Neil stills again, Andrew refocuses on his brother, who’s staring measuredly back.

Silence, they’re good at. It’s always been the talking they’ve struggled with. But that was what the therapy was for.

“What do you need, Andrew?” Aaron asks.

“I need a cigarette.”

“So go and smoke one. Neil’s out for the count, he won’t notice.”

It’s a fair point. But still. “I don’t want to leave him on his own,” Andrew gets out through gritted teeth.

Understanding settles on Aaron’s face. “I’ll sit with him while you’re gone.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because Neil’s on a lot of painkillers. If he wakes up and sees you, he might be groggy enough that he confuses you for me. He might say something _nice.”_

It’s a joke, so Aaron flashes a glimmer of a smile. “It’s been ten years and it hasn’t happened yet. I doubt it’ll happen now.”

And it _is_ ten years, almost to the day, since Andrew picked a skittish Neil up from the airport and let him believe that he was Aaron. The guise hadn’t held up for long, of course, but Andrew’s interest had already been piqued by then.

He couldn’t have predicted how things would turn out.

He must remain quiet for too long, because Aaron says, “Andrew. Go smoke a cigarette. Get some coffee, make some calls, do whatever you need. I’ll stay here until you get back, I promise.”

Andrew hesitates. “If you’re offering, I could do with going home to shower and pick up a couple of things. And I need to check on the cats. But I’ll be an hour, hour and a half maybe.”

“I’m offering. Go.”

Andrew gets to his feet. “If Neil wakes up and panics, get me on the phone immediately so that I can talk him down. Do _not_ let them touch him.”

“I got it, I got it.” Aaron makes a shooing gesture towards the door. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back.”

That, Andrew can’t argue with, so with one last parting glance at Neil, he leaves.

He bypasses the main entrance and instead exits through the gift shop, and thus avoiding the one or two paparazzi who are no doubt hanging around. There’s a ticket on his car but it’s of little concern to Andrew; he scrunches it up and throws it in the backseat.

It’s a fifteen minute drive back to their apartment, and once he’s parked, Andrew takes the stairs to the third floor, not wanting to risk having to wait in an elevator with someone. By some fluke, he passes no one in the stairwell, and he quickly lets himself into their apartment.

As soon as the door closes behind him, both cats make a beeline for Andrew, crowding around his legs and letting out pathetic little meows that Andrew has no doubt would have Neil picking them up and hugging them if he were here.

But he’s _not_ here, because he’s in the hospital.

Sir winds his way around one of Andrew’s legs, and King rubs up against the other, purring obnoxiously. “Alright,” Andrew murmurs, bending down to scratch them both behind the ears. Once he straightens, he heads to the kitchen. The cats have an automatic feeder and water dispenser, but Andrew makes sure that both are topped up.

After that, he goes to the bedroom, grabs a duffel bag, and starts throwing in anything he thinks Neil might want or need, as well as a couple of things for himself. He’s not sure yet when Neil will be able to leave the hospital; hopefully it won’t be any longer than a week. He makes sure to take more cigarettes than he thinks he’ll need, just in case.

Bag packed, Andrew goes back through to the living room and sits down on the sofa. It’s not long until his lap is crowded by the cats, but it’s okay because they’re warming and grounding and familiar. He absently strokes King with one hand and pulls his phone out of his pocket with the other.

He’s spent much of the day so far fielding phonecalls. He managed to get word out that Neil wasn’t particularly ready to cope with visitors en masse just yet, but as a result he’s been bombarded by people wanting constant updates. He minds slightly less if it’s Neil’s Fox family calling and texting because he knows their concerns are for Neil’s health, mental state, and general well-being. The calls from their team’s upper management are less welcomed, because all they care about is Neil as a commodity, and honestly, fuck each and every one of them.

Returning the call from his coach is not something he can put off for much longer, and he may as well get it over with.

“About time, Minyard,” Coach Sanders says crossly in lieu of a hello, which, if Andrew cared about that sort of thing, he would find very rude. But Sanders softens again almost immediately. “Sorry, it’s been a stressful day.”

Andrew doesn’t sympathise in the least; Sanders isn’t the one with a broken leg. “I’m returning your call, Coach. What can I do for you.”

“An update. How’s my star striker?”

Andrew’s grip tightens on his phone, even if his tone remains even. “You were there, you saw what happened. How do you think he is?”

“I understand this is difficult, Andrew,” Coach Sanders says, clearly going for patient but missing it by a mile. “But I really need to know if I need to rework the line-up to fill Neil’s place next season.”

“He broke his leg,” Andrew says as measuredly as he can, because as much as he feels like he wants to burn the whole stadium to the ground so that _no one_ gets to play Exy, him getting himself into trouble with the team wouldn’t exactly help the situation. “Of course you’ll need to rework the line-up.”

It’s the truth, although it doesn’t make it any easier to say out loud. There’s a twist in Andrew’s gut because it almost feels like he’s betraying Neil somehow. As if by saying it, he’s making it true. It’s a nonsensical train of thought; it’s _already_ true. Andrew’s seen the x-rays.

It doesn’t mean Neil’s off the team, of course. He’ll still be on the payroll, he’s just on the injured list, to be reassessed when he’s healed enough to begin training again. From there, it’ll be decided what kind of future he has in the team, if any.

But that’s a long way off, and Andrew has more immediate concerns. Like why Kevin Fucking Day has not yet called him back.

After hanging up with Coach Sanders, Andrew stares at his phone as if he can conjure a call from Kevin through will alone, but nothing happens, so Andrew takes a shower instead.

He changes into sweats and a hoodie once he’s out, because if he’s going to be lounging about in a hospital, he’s at least going to be comfortable. It’s one of Neil’s hoodies because the sleeves are longer and Andrew likes to pull them over his hands. It’s not a team one though, so there’s no JOSTEN emblazoned on the back for the press to see and have a field day with. The first time Neil was ever spotted in Andrew’s Foxes hoodie had been before the press knew they were together, and it had been an…enlightening time.

He chainsmokes three cigarettes out on the balcony until his hands are no longer shaking, and then he decides he’s been away for long enough. There’s been no calls from Aaron so Neil must still be asleep, but he’s bound to wake up soon and Andrew really would rather be there when he does. Before leaving, he gives one last fuss to the cats, then he takes a picture of them with his phone to show Neil, because it might make him smile, and there’s not a lot Andrew won’t do to make Neil smile.

After a mercifully uneventful trip back to the hospital, Andrew arrives at Neil’s room. He’s been gone a little over an hour and a half, and Neil is now awake.

It’s not Aaron that sits beside him, but Katelyn, holding his hand. Neil’s not quite as pale as he was earlier, although there’s a slight pained edge to his smile. If he was feeling particularly unkind Andrew would attribute it to Katelyn, but Neil and Katelyn have always gotten along surprisingly well.  It’s probably because Neil is actually in pain — he did, after all, break his leg.

Aaron’s still sitting in the corner, but he’s leaning slightly towards the others and so is clearly engaged in the conversation. Aaron and Neil have also made, to use Bee’s language, ‘great strides’ since college days. Their mutual antagonism now borders on friendly instead of being downright vindictive.

All three look up at Andrew’s entrance, and Neil’s smile softens, some of the tension dropping out of his shoulders. “Hey,” he says. “How’re my babies?”

Andrew drops the duffel in the corner. “Clingy and obnoxious. Just like you.”

Katelyn laughs as Neil says, _“Hey,”_ with faux-indignance, because it’s not like Andrew’s _wrong._

Aaron gets up and goes over to Katelyn, placing a gentle hand on her head. “Come on, you. Let’s get out of their hair.”

Katelyn nods then kisses Neil on the cheek. “We’ll come in and see you again tomorrow.”

“Sure. That’ll be nice,” Neil says easily, exchanging an amiable nod with Aaron as the two of them turn to leave. Aaron gives Andrew’s shoulder a squeeze as he passes him; Katelyn offers him a smile, much less wary than the ones she used to give him. She knows she has nothing to fear from Andrew anymore.

He thinks back to their college years, when he and Aaron had slowly — _so_ slowly — worked through some of their issues, a long battle of figuring out where they fit into each other’s lives with no deals, no promises between them. Just brothers. Something that could have meant nothing if they had let it.

He’s glad they didn’t. He can admit it now.

Now he’s in a room with his husband, his brother, and his sister-in-law. A totally normal thing for most people, but they’re Foxes. The road leading to this show of family unity has been anything but easy.

And there’s a fear now, a fear that it will all get taken away. If everything does go south with the Moriyamas then the life that he and Neil have fought so hard to cultivate for themselves goes up in flames. They’ll have to run. And they’ll probably get caught. And Neil at least will probably get killed.

Andrew’s always been good at adjusting, so he knows that should he have to face a world without Neil Josten in it, he could do it. The thing is that he doesn’t _want_ to. A life without Neil isn’t one that interests him.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Odds are he’d be killed, too. Surely Ichirou would assume Andrew knows too much just by his association to Neil. And Andrew needs to stop thinking about this, because he’s not going to be able to reassure Neil if he’s internally panicking himself. He doesn’t want to give Neil hope when there might not be any.

With Aaron and Katelyn gone, there’s no dancing around the subject. There’s no distraction. If Neil asks Andrew what he honestly thinks is going to happen, Andrew has no option but the truth: that he doesn’t know.

But Neil _doesn’t_ ask. He leans his head back against the propped up pillows and stares at Andrew through heavy lids, a half-smile on his face.

“Is your morphine kicking back in?”

Neil nods slowly. “Oh yeah.” Then he frowns. “You haven’t kissed me today.”

Andrew feels his mouth quirk for the first time since Neil’s been in the hospital. “Yes, I have.”

Neil’s nose crinkles in annoyance. “That was _hours_ ago. Come here?”

Andrew rolls his eyes but it’s just for show, and he goes to Neil. He leans over and Neil tilts his face towards Andrew, and they meet in the middle, like they always have.

“See, what did I say, Neil,” Andrew says, just a whisper of a breath between them. “Clingy and obnoxious.”

Neil kisses him again, just lightly, before pulling away. “That’s me.”

 

***

 

The doctor’s checking on Neil when Kevin finally calls, and Andrew steps outside to answer with a curt, “Well?”

It isn’t the rudest way he’s ever greeted Kevin on the phone so he knows he’ll be forgiven for forgoing pleasantries given the circumstances.

“I’ve managed to buy you some time,” Kevin says.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you can tell Neil he’s in no immediate danger. I’ll explain more tomorrow.”

Kevin sounds harried and distracted, and Andrew thinks he can hear the distorted noises of crowds and announcements in the background. “Tomorrow? Where are you?”

“I’m at JFK, we’re getting on a plane to Chicago in about an hour.”

“We?”

“Me and Allison, she — ah, fuck, I’ve lost her, she was right fucking here…”

Kevin and Allison play for the same team in New York and live two blocks away from each other so it makes perfect sense that they’d travel up together to visit Neil. But it’s late afternoon and by the time they’ve landed and managed to leave the airport, visiting hours will be almost over. “You know you can’t see Neil tonight, right?”

“No shit, Andrew,” Kevin replies, and Andrew can practically picture him rolling his eyes. “We’ll — oh, there she is. Allison, wait! — we’ll be heading straight to a hotel, and then we’ll come and see Neil in the morning.”

Kevin and Allison’s arrival is more than likely going to bring more media attention to the hospital, but it was bound to happen at some point. It’s not like Andrew wants to keep Neil’s Foxes away from him; he knows he’s not the only one Neil needs right now. “Okay.”

He’s about to hang up but there’s something about Kevin’s pause that makes Andrew think he’s not finished yet. In the end, Kevin tentatively asks, “How’s he been today?”

“Up and down,” Andrew says, because it’s true but it’s also vague, and he doesn’t like talking about Neil behind his back.

“Have you spoken to your coaches yet?”

“Sanders, yes.” Andrew’s attention catches on movement from Neil’s room; the doctor leaving with a solemn expression. He idly wonders if it’s part of every doctor’s training to look as grim as possible. More likely, Neil’s not being the perfect patient, and Andrew nearly smiles at the thought. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Kevin, I’ll see you then,” he says into the receiver and hangs up.

Neil’s last dosage of painkillers had made him a little fuzzy, but they must be wearing off now because he looks straight to Andrew as soon as he enters the room.

It’s dim in the room thanks to the drawn shades, an effort to help Neil’s mild concussion headache. Hospitals are always too bright anyway, their lights always the worst kind of artificial. Andrew has enough of his own bad memories of hospitals himself, so the darkness helps him too. But it’s not _so_ dark that Andrew can’t see the expression on Neil’s face.

There’s something hollow about his stare that Andrew doesn’t like.

“I thought you might have left,” Neil says quietly. “Every time you leave the room I wonder if you might not come back.”

That stings a little if Andrew’s being honest, even if he understands where it’s coming from. Neil is riddled with insecurities, as self-assured as he often appears. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should,” Neil says bitterly. “You should get as far away from me as possible. I’m a dead man walking now. Well—” he gestures to his leg with a brief laugh devoid of any humour, “—not _walking,_ obviously. I’m a sitting duck. Just fucking _go,_ Andrew, I don’t want you to be my collateral damage.”

“Hospitals make you even more dramatic than usual.” Andrew waves his phone at Neil. “That was Kevin, by the way. He’s managed to buy you some time with the boss man and says you’re in no immediate danger. Him and Allison are flying in tonight, they’ll be stopping by in the morning.”

Neil’s expression doesn’t exactly change, although his eyes narrow slightly. “No _immediate_ danger. That doesn’t reassure me as much as it should. I’m not out of the woods which means you aren’t either if you stick around with me.”

“Neil…”

“I’m serious, Andrew,” Neil insists, and that’s what hurts, because Andrew believes him. People talk about Andrew’s protective nature, and yet they always seem to overlook Neil’s. Neil will push Andrew away if he can, all in the interest of keeping him safe.

Andrew won’t let him.

He holds up his left hand and points to the ring on his third finger. “Question, Neil. What’s this?”

Neil rolls his eyes mightily. “It’s a ring.”

“What kind of ring?”

“…A wedding ring.”

“And which idiot did I marry?”

Neil sighs. “Me. I’m the idiot.”

“That you fucking are.”

Just like that, Neil’s face crumples. He’s not crying, but he looks like he’s valiantly trying not to. Andrew gives him the space to try and sort himself out, and finally, his expression clears. He smiles, but it’s a lie of a thing. “Marrying me was the biggest mistake you ever made.”

Andrew grits his teeth before forcibly relaxing, because Neil’s upset, and he’s frightened, and he’s had his world upended yet again. He walks over to Neil’s bed and sits on the edge, and it’s a clear invitation. Neil comes to him with no further prodding, sitting up as well as he can and pressing his face into Andrew’s shoulder. Every so often a shudder wracks through his frame, but Andrew holds him firm, one arm curled around Neil’s waist. His other hand finds Neil’s, and the ring on Neil’s own finger.

Andrew gently rubs Neil’s knuckles with his thumb. He waits until Neil stops shaking before he speaks.

“Don’t ever fucking say that again.”

Silence. And then, “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

There’s a shaky sigh against Andrew’s shoulder. “I hate hospitals.”

“I know.”

“I want to go home.”

“I know, Neil.”

 

* * *

 

 

The day they get engaged is a Sunday afternoon. There’s nothing particularly noteworthy about it. It’s not a birthday or any other socially convenient special occasion. It’s just…Sunday.

Andrew’s sitting on the far end of the sofa, his elbow perched on the armrest and his feet propped up on the coffee table. Neil’s head is in Andrew’s lap as he lies on his back, spread across the rest of the sofa. There is a cat curled up on Neil’s chest. Another one is snoozing on the floor in a patch of sunlight that’s streaming in through the window. Andrew’s free hand is in Neil’s hair, and Neil’s eyes are closed.

All is quiet. It’s a good day.

It’s taken a while to get here, to finally end up on the same team, to be living together in a space they carved out for themselves. They have their cats. They have a weekly phonecall with Nicky. They have a _routine._

They’re comfortable, is the thing.

Andrew likes this; Neil under his hands, safe and content. He’s self-aware enough to know that he loves Neil, and that Neil loves him, and that he wants this everyday.

It doesn’t make him feel as off-balance as it used to.

He scratches lightly at Neil’s head and receives a satisfied hum for his trouble. Neil slowly opens his eyes and looks up at Andrew, a sleepy half-smile pulling at his lips.

“Hey.”

Andrew doesn’t immediately respond, because he’s thinking. Neil gently pushes King onto the floor and sits up, turning so he’s facing Andrew. Andrew mirrors the movement, and for a moment they just watch each other.

Neil looks vaguely curious because he’s always been fairly good at reading Andrew’s moods, but he’s patient enough that he probably won’t ask unless he senses an opening. Andrew can give him one.

“Hey,” he finally replies, and Neil smiles.

“What’s up?”

Andrew almost considers not telling him, because Neil knows Andrew doesn’t ask for truths without a reason; there’s no way he won’t read into it, and it’s not like he’d be _wrong_ to read into it. But Andrew is always safe with Neil, and he’s in a contemplative mood, so he smooths some of the hair back out of Neil’s face and asks, “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

There’s a tiny widening of icy blue eyes. “Marriage?” Neil asks carefully.

Andrew shrugs. “Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” Neil says with a tiny nod. “Right. Okay.”

He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on top, staring off to the side; not in a dismissive way, but because he’s thinking. Andrew knows that he’ll choose his answer carefully, because Neil is actually only careless with his words when he’s angry. When it’s just him and Andrew, he’s never angry.

Neil finally speaks. “Well, my parents weren’t exactly the paradigm for a successful marriage,” he says with a wry smile — the understatement of the year — and then he shrugs. “But Matt and Dan seem pretty damn happy.”

Neil had been best man at Matt and Dan’s wedding; his speech was short but meaningful, and Matt sobbed the whole way through. As did Nicky. And Allison. Andrew appreciated how good Neil looked in his suit.

“It seems to have suited Aaron and Katelyn pretty well, too. And obviously Nicky can’t wait until he and Erik finally tie the knot. I dunno. The wedding part, with all the attention and the people? I’m not sure if that’s my thing. But the actual being _married_ thing? Yeah, I could get on board with that.”

“Why?”

Neil shrugs again. “There’s all the practical shit obviously. Tax purposes. It’s convenient, I guess? No one would ever question how serious your relationship is if you can just tell them you’re married. And…” He trails off and pulls at a loose thread on his sweatpants; a clearly self-conscious gesture. “And that person becomes your family, y’know? Officially. It’s belonging to someone, but like, in a good way I guess. That’s your person, and everyone knows it. So, yeah. I can see the appeal in that.”

Andrew sits quietly, and he takes it all in. He nods. “I agree.”

Neil lifts his head and meets Andrew’s gaze. “You do?”

“I do.”

The rarest of Neil’s smiles — the one that he reserves for Andrew and Andrew alone — spreads across his face, and Andrew can’t help but reach out and run his knuckles gently across Neil’s cheek. Neil catches his hand and kisses the inside of his wrist. The smile remains but it changes in a minuscule but distinctly mischievous sort of way. His eyes practically glint. “So,” he says. “Hypothetically speaking then, you’d be on board with getting married. And _I’d_ be on board with getting married. Interesting.”

“Is it,” Andrew says with absolutely no inflection, because if Neil can be a shit, Andrew can be a shit, too.

Neil laughs a little and nudges Andrew’s thigh with his toe. “Andrew, are we really having this conversation.”

“We are.”

“No, I mean…are we _having_ this conversation?” Neil says meaningfully.

Andrew looks at him, just as meaningfully. “Do you want to be?”

Neil nudges Andrew again, just gently. “I do if you do,” he says, and as tempted as Andrew is to just reply, “Well, _I_ do if _you_ do,” he decides instead to stop dancing around the subject.

“I want to,” he says simply.

“With me,” Neil says, almost questioningly, pointing to his own chest.

As if there could ever possibly be anyone else.

“With you, Neil.”

Neil grins and edges closer; his fingers catch the edge of Andrew’s sleeve. “So, just so we’re absolutely clear…”

 _“Neil.”_ It’s work not to roll his eyes, but Andrew just about manages it.

“I need things spelled out for me, remember?”

Andrew sighs, and he links his fingers with Neil’s, lightly tugging, just enough so Neil will _feel_ it. “Do you want to get married to me, yes or no, Neil?”

Their faces are an inch apart.

Neil grins. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” He closes the gap.

After a too brief moment, he pulls back again.

“That’s a yes, by the way.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s discomfort more than anything else that wakes Neil up.

Although the nightmares don’t exactly help.

His eyes immediately find Andrew in the low light, having dragged one chair over to the other in the corner so he can stretch out to sleep just a tad more comfortably than he would otherwise. Neil would rather have him in the bed with him, but hospital beds aren’t really made for two people, and with Neil’s leg in excruciating pain every time he moves it, it’s probably for the best.

Instead he pines from across the room, watching the slow rise and fall of Andrew’s chest, the way the moonlight shines across his face, the way his hair is pushed up on one side where his head is pressed into the armrest. Neil didn’t used to think it was possible to miss someone when they were in the same room as you, but being with Andrew has introduced him to all sorts of new feelings. He learns new ones all the time.

With some difficulty, he drags his gaze away from Andrew and instead stares up at the ceiling. Everything happened so fast at the stadium that he can’t quite remember all the details. But he remembers the pain. _God,_ does he remember the pain.

He knows he was lucky to get into surgery as quickly as he did. He’s listened to the doctors and nurses and he doesn’t like the picture they paint. His recovery is going to be long and painful and difficult, even if there’s no complications. But there’s a twinging pain in Neil’s knee that makes him think there might be other issues to worry about that the larger injury is overshadowing.

The news from Kevin that Neil is in no immediate danger has helped a little, now that Neil’s had a little longer to process it. They’ll get the full details tomorrow when Kevin visits, and Neil can thank him in person for actually broaching the subject with Ichirou at all. Kevin’s come a long, long way since college, but still, opening a dialogue with the head of a crime family on Neil’s behalf cannot have been easy for him.

The important thing is that there’s a chance that Ichirou will give Neil the time he needs to heal, to get back on his feet, to build back up to his Exy career. At the very least, his foot is in the door to convince Ichirou that he can do it. But can he? Can he _really?_

He knows of players that have had similar injuries. Some of them made it back, some didn’t. And those that did never quite reached the same level they were playing at pre-injury. But then again no one’s ever _needed_ to make it back as badly as Neil does. It’s not just his livelihood, it’s his _life;_ his actual _life_ rides on this stupid, wonderful sport. It’s not the only thing he has to live for, not by a long shot. He has Andrew, he has his friends, his cats, _himself…_ But still, the Exy has always been important. He’s always loved it, and it’s kept him alive since he went pro, and he thought he’d be able to carry on until he was forced into retirement.

He didn’t think that would happen so soon.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to convince himself not to get ahead of himself even as a solitary tear trickles out of his eye. But it’s so hard not to be negative when he’s lying in a hospital bed, brand new metal rods in his leg, barely able to move without causing himself agony.

He breathes slowly and quietly, anxious not to wake Andrew up, but needing to calm himself down. All he needs to do is work hard and focus on his recovery. He can do that. He’s no stranger to pushing himself. He peers down to the foot of his bad leg, and slowly tilts his ankle. The movement hurts like hell as it reverberates up through the rest of his leg, so he stops after a couple of times.

It’s still early days.

Neil doesn’t even blame Jacobs, not really, not like Andrew probably does. He doesn’t think Jacobs' intention would have been to hurt him on this scale. It’s a sport, and with any sport, there’s always risk involved. These things happen. But he’s furious — mind-numbingly _furious_ — that it’s happened to _him._

After everything he’s been through, he’d finally managed to convince himself that his life was his own now, and he’d allowed himself to get complacent. Maybe all it’s ever been is an illusion, if this is how quickly everything can fall to pieces around him.

Neil only has one coherent thought before once again falling asleep:

_This isn’t fair._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a very vague mention of a panic attack in this chapter, it doesn't go into detail but it starts at:
> 
> [He can already feel his breathing start to come quicker]
> 
> and you can pick it up again at:
> 
> [“I feel like I shouldn’t]
> 
> in case you want to skip past it! it's not a long section.

It is nice to see them. Of course it is.

But Kevin can’t help the look of worry when he takes in Neil’s leg; the reality that this isn’t something Neil can just walk off and be good as new again in a couple of weeks.

Allison — because she’s Allison — barges straight in and kisses Neil on the forehead.

“Still a knockout even in a hospital gown,” she says, and Neil smiles a little, just for her.

“How are you feeling?” Kevin asks, and Neil knows it’s a genuine question coming from a caring place from one of his best friends, but the amount of times Neil has heard that question over the last couple of days means that it now sets his teeth on edge.

“I feel like I broke my fucking leg, Kevin,” he says, and he can’t quite manage to keep the irritation out of his tone.

There’s a pause, and then Kevin says, almost eagerly, “Lopez, three years ago, broke his leg in that car accident and they told him he’d never play again, but he was back tending goal for the Lions this season. And—and then remember a few years back when Robinson injured her spine in the playoffs? They thought she’d be lucky to walk again without a cane but she’s back in the minor leagues now. And also—”

“Kevin,” Andrew says, just once, but it’s enough warning.

He shrugs helplessly. “I’m just saying.”

Neil runs a hand down his face. “I know. But for now, no miracle stories, no statistics. At least until I’m out of the hospital. I can’t…I can’t fucking hear it right now.”

Kevin looks like he wants to say something else, but then he thinks the better of it and nods.

Allison is notoriously allergic to awkward silences, so before one can descend, she chides, “We’ve flown _allll_ this way to see you and you haven’t even said ‘hi’ yet.”

“I’m sure the two and a half hour flight was very taxing. But hello,” Neil says sarcastically. “Welcome to the shit-show.”

“Uh oh,” Allison says, looking around at Andrew. “He’s wallowing.”

“Just a little,” Andrew confirms.

Neil drops his head back against his pillows and sighs loudly. “If you could not talk about me like I’m not here, that would be fucking fantastic.”

Andrew gets to his feet and gently presses the back of his hand to Neil’s forehead, and then his cheek. Irritated as he is, Neil likes the touch too much to complain. Andrew’s hands are cool and comforting.

“Me and Kevin are heading down to the cafeteria, do you want anything?”

Neil shakes his head.

“Get Allison to call me if you change your mind.”

“’Kay,” Neil says, before adding quietly, just for Andrew, “Don’t be long.” He blames it on the situation, on the fact that he’s so hurt, on the meds, but the thought of Andrew being out of sight is suddenly almost unbearable.

Andrew nods almost imperceptibly, then gestures to Kevin, who leaves the room ahead of him. He looks back at Neil just once before leaving, and Neil wonders if the feeling is mutual.

He drags his gaze back to Allison, who is watching him shrewdly. He’s actually glad that she’s the first person other than Andrew to be alone with him. She won’t coddle. She won’t bullshit. She won’t look at him with sympathy in her eyes, and she won’t talk about Exy unless Neil specifically asks her to.

She’s one of his best friends, after all, and she knows him very well.

She sits in the chair Andrew has just vacated. “Okay. Do you want me to trash-talk Jacobs with you, do you want me to be a sympathetic ear while you rant and rave, do you want me to get Wymack on the phone to give you a rousing pep-talk, or do you want me to distract you with a funny anecdote?”

For a split-second, Neil is incredibly tempted by the Wymack pep-talk option. But he has no doubt he’ll get one at some point soon anyway, and he really should wait until he’s in the right frame of mind to hear it.

“Tell me something. One of your anecdotes,” he settles on. “Distract me.”

Allison doesn’t hesitate, like she’s already got one queued up ready to go. “Kevin drools in his sleep. Did you know? He was conked out on my shoulder five minutes after take-off and didn’t wake up until we landed. I had a puddle on my new shirt.”

Neil manages a smile. “Hey, I sat next to him on almost _all_ the flights we had to go on for away games before he graduated. Had a ton of my own shirts drooled on.”

“Yes, but Neil, the difference is that your shirts are all terrible and mine are amazing.” Allison hesitates and gives Neil a considered look. “Actually, that’s not true anymore. Thanks to mine and Nicky’s input, and, to be fair, your husband’s, you’re now much better at dressing yourself.” She smiles. “I’m so proud.”

“God,” Neil says, but she’s got him laughing just a little. Fuck, he’s missed her. “You’re so fucking patronising.”

“I know, darling.” She pats his cheek lightly and he swats her away amiably.

“Fuck off.”

“Nah. You’re stuck with me.”

Allison’s phone pings and she takes it out to look, then rolls her eyes. “Jesus, they’re fast. Fucking vultures.”

She can only be talking about the the press. “Are they here? At the hospital?”

“Oh yeah. Big time.”

Neil thought they must be, but he thinks Andrew’s been playing down how big a story his injury is. And by ‘playing it down’, Neil means ‘not mentioning it at all’.

“Did they see you and Kevin together?” he asks. The rumours of a possible Kevin Day/Allison Reynolds romance have run rampant ever since Allison joined Kevin’s team, the New York Stallions, the previous season. Neil’s not sure which of them is more annoyed over it.

“Unfortunately,” Allison sighs, then reads aloud whatever news alert set off her phone notifications: “‘Rumoured lovebirds and Exy superstars Allison Reynolds and Kevin Day spotted heading into Chicago Hospital to visit injured former PSU Foxes teammate Neil Josten. No sign of Josten’s partner and Chicago Devils teammate Andrew Minyard so far today.’ God, they’re gonna flip out when they find out you two are married. You’d think they’d have something better to do than camp out at a hospital.”

“You’d think,” Neil says dryly, but honestly, the lows the media consistently sink to have ceased to amaze him.

They still include the infamous incident that led to Andrew’s medication in articles, and they still reference Aaron’s trial. They still mention Neil’s father. So this is nothing, really.

The media interest in him isn’t anything that Neil’s ever particularly warmed to, and he certainly doesn’t covet the attention. He’s gotten vaguely used to it; an annoyance he puts up with because it’s part of his job, and for the most part he _really_ fucking loves his job…

And just like that, tears of white hot rage born out of pure frustration prick at Neil’s eyes. He refuses to blink, determined not to let them fall, all while Allison goes suspiciously quiet.

She lets him gather himself, and when he has, he clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” she says, and the fierceness in her voice is enough to get Neil to look at her. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes gently, leaning closer to lightly brush back some of Neil’s hair. “Listen. I know that you’re going to get through this and that one day you’ll look back at this as just a bad dream, as something else you had to overcome. But in the meantime, you get to be as angry as you need to be, baby. You get to shout and cry about how unfair this is if that makes you feel better, because it _is_ unfair. And fuck, Neil, you get to wallow for a while, okay? You get to be sad.”

Neil starts to blink furiously, and he can’t reply yet, he doesn’t have the words. He squeezes Allison’s hand back and she smiles, softer than the ones she reserves for magazine shoots or the paparazzi or even her instagram posts. “We’re all here for you. We always are.”

“I know,” he manages to say.

Allison gives him another minute, then squeezes his hand once more before letting go. Her phone pings again, but it’s a message this time, and Allison grins at her screen. “It’s from Matt,” she says. “’How’s my boy?’ is all it says.”

“Tell him I’m fine.”

“Ha! He’ll _love_ that,” Allison says, and types out her reply. “I’m surprised he isn’t on his way to see you, to be honest, he’s been frantic. Him and Dan both.”

“I got Andrew to tell them to wait until I’m out of hospital before they come visit, they’ve got the kids to worry about, and I’d rather see them in my own space anyway.”

“Oh shit, babe, I didn’t even think to ask — is it okay that I’m here?”

“Yeah, ‘course it is. I just—” Neil breaks off and sighs, searching for the words. “Andrew had a hard enough time convincing Nicky not to get a flight over to visit and if I had literally _everyone_ here, it would be a bit…much? I guess? I broke my leg, I’m not _dying._ I’d just prefer to keep it small, even though I appreciate the attention.”

Allison bursts out laughing. “Ohhh, ‘appreciate the attention’ my _ass,_ Josten. That’s the biggest lie you ever told.”

Neil levels a glare at Allison. “Is it? Is it really?”

“Honestly, babe, it’s up there.”

Neil scowls but doesn’t beleaguer the point. He pokes Allison in the arm. “You’re supposed to be distracting me anyway. What are you doing for the off-season? Any plans to see Renee?”

Allison’s eyes light up. “I’m meeting her in Hawaii in July. I cannot _wait._ It’s gonna be awesome.”

Neil hums in non-committal agreement; Hawaii’s not really his scene. “When did you last see her?”

“It was February. I saw her when you did, because she flew in for your ‘wedding reception’,” Allison says it with excessive air quotations and a pointed look at Neil — she’d insisted that the small get together they’d held at their apartment did not count as a wedding reception and had practically begged them to let her throw a proper one. Naturally, they had refused. “And then we had, like, two days in Manhattan before she had to jet off again. It’s just been facetime since then.” She sighs mournfully.

The thing about Allison and Renee is that the things they have wanted out of life have meant they’ve often been pulled in opposite directions. Technically, they’re not together, but whenever they’re _together,_ they’re… _together._ If Neil’s sure of anything, he’s sure they’ll sort their shit out and make it official at some point. It’s not a question of _if,_ it’s a question of _when._

“Hey,” he says, because Allison suddenly looks a little sad, and maybe she needs a reminder. “You know I don’t bet—”

“Because you’re boring,” Allison interrupts.

“—but if I _did,_ my money would be on you two. You know that, right? It’s inevitable.”

“It better be,” Allison scowls. “It’s not like I’m sleeping with anyone else.”

“Not even Kevin?” Neil teases, and Allison’s gasp is positively scandalised.

“Never have I ever been so _disrespected—”_

Kevin and Andrew choose that moment to return, which diverts Allison’s attention to Kevin directly. She brandishes her phone at him. “Have you seen these?”

He takes her phone and looks, brow furrowed, before groaning in resignation. “Not _again._ How many times do we have to deny being romantically involved until they leave us alone?”

“At least once more apparently,” Allison says, taking back her phone.

“The more you deny it, the guiltier you look,” Andrew says. “Just let the rumours fizzle out on their own.”

“He’s right, actually, I _told_ you,” Allison says.

Kevin groans again. “This would be so much easier if I was still with Thea.”

Kevin and Thea had broken up a couple of years earlier, incredibly amicably, but their relationship had always been so private that the media had never known they were together at all, let alone that they’d split.

“I mean,” he continues, “I just don’t _get_ it.”

“Well, we’re both beautiful, obviously,” Allison says reasonably.

Kevin shrugs and nods. “Well, _obviously.”_

“Obviously,” Neil says with a sage nod.

“Obviously?” Andrew asks with a raised eyebrow in Neil’s direction.

“I mean, _objectively.”_

“Right,” Andrew says with a slight eye-roll, but there’s a quirk to his lips that’s _almost_ on its way to a smile, and as Neil hasn’t seen Andrew smile in what feels like ages, he’ll take it.

“Allison, I got you a muffin,” Kevin says, and hands her one.

She takes it and smiles. “Aw thanks, babe, I was just getting hungr—oh fuck _you,_ Kevin, there’s raisins in this.”

“They’re good for you.”

“I don’t give a shit, it’s the off-season and I want chocolate chips.” She stands up and makes for the door. “I’m getting another one, you three can have your little mafia meeting now.”

“Jesus, Allison, be a _little_ subtle?” Kevin hisses after her. She flips him off cheerily as she disappears out the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Andrew drops back into the seat by Neil’s side. “Pull up a chair, Kevin, give us the news.”

The pit of nervousness Neil’s been adamantly trying to keep at bay all morning starts to gnaw at him. It doesn’t matter that he already knows Kevin’s not about to deliver a death sentence. It could just be a stay of execution. It’s been so long since Neil has had to cope with a fear this specific.

Andrew, ever watchful, seems to see through whatever bland expression Neil’s trying to project, and while Kevin’s preoccupied with bringing the second chair over, he briefly brushes his thumb across Neil’s cheekbone. Neil looks at him and Andrew nods once. _Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it,_ the look seems to say, and Neil tries his best to internalise that feeling.

After all, it’s how it’s always been.

“Right,” Kevin says, pulling his seat up next to Andrew’s. “So here’s the deal. I sent a message to Ichirou through one of his assistants saying that, as I was sure he was probably aware, you were currently indisposed, but wanted me to step in in your stead to open communications for when you were able to continue them.”

“Smart,” Neil says, impressed. “He probably took that as a gesture of goodwill, if he thought I wanted to get in touch and re-negotiate, especially immediately after getting hurt.”

Kevin nods. “Exactly. I didn’t know if I’d actually end up speaking to Ichirou himself or if I’d have to keep going through his assistant, but a few hours later, he called me back personally.”

“You spoke to him?” Neil can’t help but cut in. After all this time, he still doesn’t think Kevin has ever actually spoken to Ichirou personally. He’s definitely never met him. Neil himself hasn’t seen him in the flesh since the day he first negotiated that deal in the back of a limo all those years ago. He hasn’t needed to; Ichirou’s a busy man, he has plenty of assistants to deal with minor assets like Neil and Kevin and Jean. He has bigger fish to fry.

So the fact that Kevin received a personal callback worries Neil, just a little bit.

“Stop interrupting,” Andrew tells Neil, and nods at Kevin to continue.

“I think he just wanted to know details without hearing them second hand,” Kevin says, shooting Neil his best reassuring look. But Kevin doesn’t have much of a repertoire of reassuring looks, so it doesn’t help much. “Anyway, he told me that he’d seen the highlights and that it hadn’t looked good, so he asked me what I knew about the injury. I said that I’d spoken to Andrew and knew that you had had surgery, but that in terms of Exy, you’d be out of the game for a year. He asked if that was a year minimum or maximum and I said I didn’t know but that I would assume minimum, and I told him that it would be very difficult to pinpoint exactly how long recovery would take, especially when you’d only just had surgery.”

Kevin pauses to take a sip of water, and then he wrings his hands uncomfortably. “Anyway, after that he went quiet for a little while, like he was thinking, and then he asked me what I was hoping to gain from the phone-call.” Kevin shudders slightly at the memory, and Neil clearly remembers trying to use his words in such a way that he didn’t make things worse. “So I said that I was hoping that everything you had paid so far was enough for him to at the very least wait to make a decision on you until you were in a position where you not only knew more about the realities of your injury, but that you could also re-negotiate with him personally, instead of through me. He said that what you had paid so far was nowhere near enough to cover what he should have expected from you throughout an uninterrupted career, so why should he show you any lenience?”

Neil swallows thickly; he’d expected Ichirou to say something like that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Andrew quietly places his hand in Neil’s.

“What did you say?” Andrew asks.

Kevin glances quickly between the pair of them, then drops his gaze to his own hands. “I may have implied that the level of fame Neil now has could mean he could prove lucrative in other ways than just as a professional Exy player. I didn’t go into any details really, I just mentioned something about outside ad-campaigns, but he got the point I think. Enough for him to say that I could let you know that he’d be in touch when Neil was out of hospital and you could go from there.”

Neil breathes out a sigh that’s _almost_ relief, until Kevin adds, somewhat uncomfortably, “He did also say to tell you that this doesn’t mean he won’t just kill you. Just that he’s as of yet undecided. You’re going to have to convince him.”

Neil nods robotically, then closes his eyes and presses his head back against his pillows.

“You did it before, Neil,” he hears Kevin say. “You can do it again.”

It’s true, but it was hard enough the first time. And the stakes are even _higher_ this time; before Neil was just trying to protect the foundations he’d put down, and now he’ll have to do the same but for everything he’s built on top of those foundations ever since.

It seems insurmountable if he thinks about it that way.

But then again, Kevin has done what he was asked to do; he’s bought Neil _time._ Time enough to think of a game-plan, to figure out what he can offer Ichirou before he actually has to offer it. It’s more than he had last time around, when he had _no_ idea what was going to happen.

Neil opens his eyes, catches Kevin’s gaze. “Thank you,” he says.

Kevin shrugs. “It wasn’t like what you did for me, it was nothing—”

“No,” Neil insists. “It wasn’t. Thank you, Kevin.” He doesn’t miss the nod Andrew offers Kevin as well.

The door flings open to admit Allison once more, an enormous chocolate chip muffin in her hands. She takes in the three of them, sat close together in silence, and she raises one perfect eyebrow.

“Well, the mood in here has clearly plummeted in my absence.” She plasters on a smile. “It’s alright, boys, I’m back now.”

 

***

 

Having Kevin and Allison there for a while actually does wonders for Neil; they manage to keep his mind off of everything, and when Aaron and Katelyn pop in with some leftover cake they stole from behind the Nurse’s station, it’s almost like a mini Foxes reunion.

(Neil doesn’t touch the cake, but Andrew definitely does.)

But then, whilst shifting his weight, Neil manages to move in such a way that causes his leg absolute agony, and he can’t quite hide how much pain he’s in. Andrew kicks everyone out and calls for a nurse, who then calls for Dr Connolly.

She checks his surgery incisions while she’s there, and tells him they’re healing as they should be so far, and then she checks his foot, getting him to move it as much as he can, monitoring his pain levels (which are considerable) and making a couple of notes on the chart.

“How does your knee feel?” she asks.

Neil frowns. “It’s fine.”

Andrew pokes him in the shoulder. “Be honest.”

“No, I mean…compared to the leg? It’s fine,” Neil says, almost desperately. He can’t have any more problems, he _can’t._

“I didn’t ask for a comparison, I just asked about the knee. Any pain?” Dr Connolly says, no nonsense, piercing him with a look that somehow reminds him of a mixture between Abby and Wymack. He’s powerless against it.

“It’s been twinging a bit. Maybe I strained something when I got hit, I don’t know. But it’s no big deal,” he admits. Next to Neil, Andrew sighs almost imperceptibly.

Dr Connolly nods. “Injuries like this often can have an effect on the knee or ankle or both.”

“What does that mean for me?” Neil asks, throat dry.

“It means it might slow your recovery down a little. It _might,”_ she repeats hurriedly when she sees Neil’s face fall.

He can already feel his breathing start to come quicker, and is vaguely aware of Dr Connolly saying, “Neil. Listen to me.”

He manages to look at her. “It might have fucked up my ankle, too?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, your ankle should be fine, we’ll keep an eye on it like we will everything else. Let’s not panic until we know there’s something to panic about.”

It’s the poorest choice of words; Neil is already panicking, and Dr Connolly’s is not the voice that will get through to him.

It’s a hand on the back of his neck and his name steady and safe in Andrew’s mouth that gives him something to grab onto.

He’s slow to come back to himself, but eventually becomes aware that Andrew’s now sitting on the edge of Neil’s bed, and Neil’s forehead is dropped onto Andrew’s shoulder. He doesn’t remember making that move, but it’s not a unfamiliar position. Andrew is gently stroking the hair at Neil’s nape.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain to a medical professional that you don’t tell someone who’s having a panic attack not to panic,” Andrew is saying, and his tone is low and soothing because he’s trying to keep Neil calm, but Neil can sense the very real anger behind the words.

“I apologise, I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Neil? Can you tell me how you’re feeling?” Dr Connolly says, and Neil leans back and looks her in the eye.

“Better,” he says.

She nods encouragingly. “Good. That’s good. I’m sorry, Neil, that was careless of me. Can we start again?”

Andrew gets off the bed but he doesn’t go far, sitting in the chair by the bed again. He’s in reach if Neil needs him. “Forget about the complications for a minute,” Neil tells Dr Connolly. “Just tell me what I’m looking at, recovery wise. When can I put weight on it again?”

“Usually, we’d be looking at gradually getting you from non-weight bearing to full loading over a minimum of twelve weeks, but yours is a complex fracture so we’ll likely be looking at longer. And obviously this will have to be closely assessed so that you don’t injure yourself further. It’s a very fine balancing act; we need to get you moving to help the circulation and to stop muscle deterioration, but too much strain too soon will only cause more damage.”

“So I’ll need crutches,” Neil says, resigned, and Dr Connolly almost looks amused.

“Yes, Neil, you will most definitely need crutches.”

 

***

 

It’s luck more than anything that has Andrew standing at the Nurse’s station down the hall from Neil’s room filling out forms at the exact time that Kyle Jacobs starts walking up the corridor.

He’s got a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a card in the other and he winces — actually _winces_ — when he spots Andrew, and stops short.

Andrew steps away from the Nurse’s station and into Jacobs path. He gives him a once over, clocks the dark shadows under his eyes, his wan expression, and deduces that Jacobs has perhaps suffered through a couple of sleepless nights. His intentions are more than clear.

Andrew doesn’t have the energy for this.

“No,” is all he says. There might have been a time, long ago, that he’d merely deal with this with a well-aimed punch and then been done with it, but violence is no longer his go-to reaction.

Jacobs face crumples. “Please,” he says, and Andrew grits his teeth. “I just want to apologise.”

“I’m sure you’ll feel much better after you have. It’s a shame it doesn’t help Neil any, though, isn’t it?”

Jacobs is well over a foot taller than Andrew, but it’s quite incredible how small he looks in this moment. “I know it won’t, I just wanted to — if he’d even see me…” Jacobs trails off. He looks utterly miserable. “Never mind. Just give him these, Minyard.” He thrusts the flowers and card into Andrew’s hands; Andrew takes them automatically.

He watches as Jacobs starts to walk away, hunched and hands now buried deep into his pockets. It strikes Andrew that it’s not really up to him to decide if Neil will see Jacobs or not. He sighs. “Wait.”

Jacobs whirls around, and Andrew gestures him closer. He hands back the flowers and the card. “Wait right here,” Andrew says. “I’ll go and tell Neil you’re here, and it’s up to him whether he wants to see you or not.”

“Okay. Great, thank you,” Jacobs says, eyes brightening.

“If Neil says no, it’s a no, and you’ll have to find your absolution elsewhere.” He pauses. “And even if he _does_ see you now, I can’t guarantee he’ll offer you any.”

Jacobs nods, but he seems more hesitant now. “Okay,” he says again.

Andrew turns away without another word and saunters up the corridor. Neil’s room is right at the end, and as Andrew pushes the door open, he almost hopes Neil has fallen asleep so Andrew can just send Jacobs away.

Not this time.

Neil’s glaring up at the ceiling like it has personally wronged him and he doesn’t even glance at Andrew when he enters the room.

“I want. To go. _Home,”_ he says.

“You’ve mentioned that a couple of times. It’ll be a few more days at least.”

“I miss the cats. They’ll have forgotten me by the time I get out of this place.”

“That’s not even remotely true,” Andrew says. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “Someone’s here to see you.”

That makes Neil finally look at Andrew, and he frowns in confusion, because he knows that if it was anyone Neil liked, Andrew would let them straight through. “Who?”

“Jacobs.”

Neil huffs a laugh. “Bullshit.”

“Do I look like I’m in a bullshitting mood,” Andrew deadpans.

The smile falls off Neil’s face and he’s quiet for a moment before loosing a breath. “Well what does he _want?”_

Andrew shrugs. “I’m assuming he wants to apologise. He’s waiting down the hall, I said it was your call as to whether he can come in or not. If you want him to go, he’s gone.”

Neil runs his hand through his hair, thinking. Then he shrugs. “Fuck it. Let him in, I’ll probably have to see him at some point anyway, right? May as well get it over with.”

Andrew waits a little, just to see if Neil will change his mind, but he knows better than to ask if Neil’s sure. He’s made his decision. “Alright,” he says, and goes to fetch Jacobs.

If Jacobs had looked nervous facing Andrew, he looks even more so heading back into Neil’s room. Neil’s face is carefully expressionless — Andrew can tell — but he nods at Jacobs, just once.

Jacobs takes in Neil’s strapped leg. “Jesus,” he says. “I didn’t… _Jesus._ How bad is it?”

“Tibia and fibula fracture. I have a metal rod in my leg now, and in three-to-six months, I’ll have to get the screws keeping it in place taken out.” There’s no blame lacing Neil’s tone, he’s merely stating facts, and yet Jacobs almost rears back like he’s been struck. It’s because Jacobs loves the sport, Andrew realises; he’s like Neil in that way, and he’ll figure out what this means for Neil’s career.

“Is it — is it career ending?” Jacobs asks.

From where Andrew is silently waiting near the door, Andrew sees the strain in Neil’s jaw as he gets out, “Potentially.”

“Oh man. Oh man, I’m so fucking sorry. It was the game, the _final,_ and I got all caught up and I swear, Josten, I _swear,_ I never meant to fucking hit you so hard.”

“That’s not what it looked like from where I was standing,” Andrew cuts in.

“Andrew,” Neil murmurs quietly, and Andrew shuts up.

“I know what it looked like, I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but I swear, it was an accident. I already thought you’d be out of the way by the time I reached you, I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I was just…running. It was the game, man. You know how it is.”

The thing is, Andrew knows Neil will understand perfectly, because he’s _always_ been like that with Exy. Not quite as singularly focused as Kevin, but a passion that burns so brightly it even reached Andrew, after a while. All for the fucking game.

The silence seems to stretch for an age, and then Neil motions the gifts in Jacobs hands. “Are those for me?”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t know what to get and my, uh, my mom told me flowers were always good for an apology? I dunno, I just—” He cuts himself off awkwardly puts the flowers and card on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” Neil says. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing, Josten. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and if I could take it back, I would. I don’t like to see that. I don’t like to be the cause of that, y’know? But I am. And now I have to live with it.” He shrugs awkwardly, then stares at the ground.

“You do,” Neil says simply. “But for what it’s worth, I accept your apology.”

Jacobs head jerks up. “Really?”

“Sure. It was an accident. Accidents happen in sport.”

Jacobs nods, relieved, but makes no immediate move to leave. Andrew really wants him to leave; just because Neil’s forgiven him, doesn’t mean Andrew has to. He shifts slightly on his feet, but Neil notices; his eyes flit to Andrew immediately.

In German, Andrew says, “Get him out of here.” There’s less heat in it than the time he said something similar in a dingy hotel room in Baltimore, but Neil gets the message and half-smiles.

To Jacobs, he says, “Thanks for stopping by. But visiting hours are over now.” This is a lie, and Jacobs probably knows it’s a lie, but he’s happy enough to take the dismissal.

“Thanks for even seeing me. I’m rooting for you, Josten. You’ll get back out there.” He waves and then turns towards the door. He pauses next to Andrew and his gaze flickers down to Andrew’s left hand. “I didn’t know you two were married,” he says, gesturing to the ring. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“It’s not a secret,” Andrew says, but in such a way that it invites no further comment.

At last, Jacobs leaves, and Andrew returns his attention to Neil. He arches an eyebrow. “How very magnanimous of you.”

“Not really,” Neil says. “I mean, it’s his _fault,_ but it was still an accident.”

Andrew nods, understanding settling over him. Neil’s had worse done to him on purpose; forgiving someone for hurting him accidentally is a no-brainer, all things considered.

“No one else is coming to visit me today, right?” Neil asks, suddenly sounding exhausted.

“Not that I know of. Allison and Kevin are dropping back in tomorrow morning before they head back to Manhattan, but they’re out with Aaron and Katelyn tonight.”

Neil snorts. “Double date?”

“Kevin would have a meltdown if he heard you say that.”

“That’s why it’s funny.”

“My husband, the comedian,” Andrew mutters, and the grin that spreads across Neil’s face is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. It still makes him roll his eyes though. “What?”

“I like it when you call me that. Your husband.”

“It’s what you _are,_ junkie.”

“I know. Come and sit with me?”

Andrew goes and sits on the edge of the bed, as close as he can get to Neil without jostling him and hurting his leg. He wants to kiss him, so he does, moving slowly and making his intentions clear, and swallowing up Neil’s pleased hum.

They sit quiet and still, foreheads pressed together. Andrew needs the time to just breathe, and _be,_ and he thinks Neil does as well. _Together._ He always feels better when they’re together. He’ll burn Ichirou’s kingdom to the ground if he tries to take this away.

“Am I more trouble than I’m worth?” Neil says quietly after a while, a tiny self-deprecating smile on his face.

“No.” Andrew cups Neil’s cheeks gently and kisses him. “Not to me.”

He kisses Neil again, and feels him smile into it, but then suddenly he stills under Andrew’s hands. Andrew pulls back immediately.

“That’s it,” Neil says, eyes wide and earnest. “That’s what I need to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Ichirou. When he comes to see me, and he will, I have to make him see that killing me would be more trouble than I’m worth. And it _would_ be, that’s not even a lie.”

Neil grins, that old familiar confidence finally making a welcome return to his expression.

“I’m going to make him see that killing me would be a bad investment.”

 

* * *

 

 

Neil had found the year following Andrew’s graduation…difficult, to say the least. It had been lonely, losing the last of his remaining original Foxes teammates, suddenly having to navigate campus without Andrew meeting him outside classes. He couldn’t even find any solace on the roof of Fox Tower anymore; not without the familiar sight of Andrew sitting near the edge, sharing his cigarettes.

So yes, that year had been hard, but it had been _nothing_ compared to Neil’s first year playing pro post-Palmetto. His initial relief at just being signed at all is quickly pushed aside as Neil suddenly has to navigate his way in a new city on a new team with a new lonesome apartment in which he lives. Alone.

He’d known he wouldn’t be on Andrew’s team straight away for a multitude of reasons, the most important being that Andrew hated his team and was on the lookout for a transfer. So Neil went to play in Boston while Andrew continued playing in Philadelphia. It was about an hour and a half away by plane; over five hours by car. At the very least, it was less of a distance than when Neil had still been at school, but it’s more difficult to find time now. They so rarely have schedules that align.

Halfway through that horrible first year, Andrew is sent on loan to the Chicago Devils with a view to a permanent signing the following season. It puts more distance between him and Neil, but it’s a much better fit for Andrew, and it’ll be a better fit for Neil, too, if he ever manages to work his way onto the team.

In the meantime, it’s a long slog of only catching time together in brief snapshots, each whirlwind visit feeling like they’re catching their breaths for the first time in ages, only to have it snatched away again before they’re ready.

Neil’s miserable, but feels guilty for feeling miserable. He finally has his life, when he’d spent so long thinking he’d already be dead by now. He has everything he’s ever wanted, but he spends most of his time struggling to stay afloat.

He’s playing well, though. So that’s something.

A few days before Neil’s last game of the season, Andrew calls.

 _I miss you,_ Neil wants to say as soon as he picks up. _I miss you, I miss you, and it’s killing me._

“Hey,” he says instead. “How was your day?”

“It was a gym day. A couple of the backliners tried to out-lift me.”

Neil smiles at the thought. “Did they manage it?”

“Don’t insult me, Neil,” Andrew drawls, and Neil misses him so fucking much. His mouth opens to tell Andrew so, when he’s cut off before he even starts. “I have news.”

Without context, Neil’s heart starts to race. “What kind of news?”

“The good kind. I spoke to the Devils manager today, and after next season there’ll be a striker’s position open.”

Neil had been slouching on his sofa but he bolts upright at that. “Did you say I’d be interested?”

“I did. When I come to watch your game on Friday, Coach Sanders and another Devils representative will be coming with me. They’ll talk to you after the game.”

“Wait, you said after _next_ season. So this is for in a year’s time?”

“Yes,” Andrew says, and Neil’s heart sinks. “I know a lot can change in a year but they’re serious about you, and they want to keep me and know signing you goes a long way towards that. My record speaks for itself, and so does yours. They can’t officially offer you a position on Friday, but they’ll be getting the talks going with you and your team managers.”

“But it could still fall through,” Neil says, and he slumps back down, resigned.

“In theory. But it’s not going to. And if it does, we’ll figure something out. Another year is my limit. I’m not doing longer than that without you.”

Neil almost loses cognitive thought; he can’t have heard that right. “Andrew?” It’s barely a whisper.

Andrew doesn’t immediately respond, but Neil knows he’s still there; he can hear him breathing. “It’s been…hard. Harder than I thought it’d be,” he finally says, and Neil’s suddenly noticing how tired Andrew sounds.

“I know,” Neil says. “Really fucking hard. But this will work, right? I’ll be on your team in two seasons time.”

“Yes. This is happening. We’re making this happen.”

Neil loves it when Andrew cares enough to be decisive. He loves that Andrew is so often decisive when it comes to things involving Neil. He loves _Andrew._

“I miss you, Andrew. I miss you so much.”

There’s a pause.

“One more year, Neil. Then you won’t have to.”

He knows Andrew well enough to know that’s as good as an _I miss you, too._

 

* * *

 

 

In the end, it’s nine days before Neil’s allowed to leave the hospital.

He has to endure the wheelchair to the exits (”It’s hospital policy, Mr Josten”), and then struggle into the minivan that Andrew has borrowed from a teammate to get him home easier.

Neil’s no stranger to using crutches, having had a couple bad sprains over the last few years, but he’s never had to use them with an injury this severe before. He’s never had to rely on them quite so heavily. He cannot put any weight on his bad leg at _all,_ and by the time he’s gone from the minivan to the elevator, then the elevator to the apartment, he’s _exhausted._

Andrew slips in the door before Neil so that he can intercept the cats, but once Neil has made it to the living room and managed to sit himself down, his leg laid out straight before him, Andrew deposits both squirming cats onto the sofa beside Neil and lets them crowd him.

He fusses over them, smiling, while Andrew busies himself with sorting out the apartment and doing things like laundry and vacuuming and opening windows to make the place feel fresher after being barely lived in for the last week plus. It doesn’t take Sir long to fall asleep curled up next to Neil, his head pushing up against Neil’s thigh. But King likes more personal cuddles, so Neil holds her in his arms, her front two paws tucked over his shoulder and she headbutts Neil’s scarred cheek lightly.

It’s all too much, all of a sudden. Being in the hospital almost felt like being in a different dimension, but he’s home now, where he’s comfortable, and he’s got his husband and his cats. His leg though, is in a cast, a painful reminder that it’s all so very real and not some incredibly lifelike fever-dream.

He’s overwhelmed enough to cry apparently, because he’s suddenly aware that King’s fur is a little damp where he’s been pressing his face into it. “Sorry, buddy,” he whispers to her, and puts her down. He wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie and sniffs, and it’s then that Andrew walks back into the living room.

He pauses in the archway and just looks at Neil calmly. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, but he doesn’t pretend he hasn’t noticed that Neil’s upset either.

When Neil sniffs again, Andrew pads over and moves Sir so he can sit next to Neil. He rests his head against Neil’s shoulder, and it’s just enough contact that Neil knows he’s there. After a moment, he wipes his eyes again and slowly tilts his head so that it’s leaning against Andrew’s.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” Andrew replies quietly. He pulls Neil’s hand into his lap and links their fingers together. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Mac and cheese,” Neil says without hesitation.

“Okay,” Andrew says. He presses an idle kiss to the delicate skin on Neil’s inner wrist. “Mac and cheese it is.”

 

***

 

There’s a lot of texts on Neil’s phone from him friends, but his favourite is from Wymack. It says, **I know it’s not your style, but if you need anything — anything at all — you know where to find me.**

He hasn’t replied yet, and he knows that Wymack won’t really have been expecting him to, but he’s looked at it often. He’s looking at it again when in his hands his phone starts to ring. It’s a New York number, but one he doesn’t recognise.

Neil knows better than to ignore it.

“Hello?” he answers, working to keep his voice steady. Andrew’s at the store; there’s no one else to witness this conversation.

“Tomorrow,” an unfamiliar voice says. “Be ready.”

“For what—” Neil starts, but the phone has already been cut off.

A couple of seconds later, a text message from the same number buzzes through:

**\- The parking garage of your building. 9am.**

Neil reads the message twice and then tosses his phone to the side. He’s been home from the hospital for a week, and he’s at once annoyed that Ichirou hasn’t given him longer, and surprised he didn’t get a call the very first day he was out.

It’s still only the morning, and Neil has a check-up that afternoon, followed by a phone meeting with the Devils’ coaching staff. And now he has to do it all whilst pretending not to be absolutely terrified that it’s his last day alive.

As soon as Andrew gets home, Neil tells him about the call, and shows him the message.

“Nine? Really?” he sighs. “They couldn’t have at least given us a proper lie-in?”

“Andrew,” Neil says carefully, “I’m pretty sure they’ll be expecting me to be alone.”

“Then they should have specified,” is Andrew’s curt reply, and he goes to the kitchen to noisily unpack the groceries, effectively shutting out any further rebuttal Neil might make.

But then again, it was always going to be this way.

Together, or not at all.

 

***

 

They’re not late to the parking garage the next morning, but Ichirou’s people are early, because they’re already waiting when Neil and Andrew arrive.

The sleek black SUV waiting for them is large enough for Neil to get in an out of with slightly more ease than a smaller car, and Neil can’t help the tiny surge of hope from within that this is an intentional decision. His injury is being catered for, which seems to imply he isn’t about to be murdered. Right?

Before they can get in, a man gets out of the driver’s seat and holds a hand out to stop them. He motions to Andrew and shakes his head. “Only you,” he says to Neil.

“That wasn’t what I was told. He’s coming too,” Neil says firmly; he can practically feel Andrew simmering with rage beside him. He knows for a fact that Andrew is armed to the teeth with knives and that if this goes south, it could get messy.

Before they’re both inevitably killed, of course. They’ll be outnumbered.

The driver glances between them, seems to understand that they won’t budge, and pulls a phone out of his suit pocket.

They hear one side of a conversation in Japanese, after which Andrew is allowed into the car, albeit incredibly grudgingly.

The drive is silent as they are taken on a twenty minute drive through the city before arriving at what appears to be an abandoned warehouse.

 _This,_ Neil can’t help thinking as the car stops, _would be a great place to murder someone._

There’s another car parked nearby, and Neil, who’s done this before, reaches for the door-handle to go and meet Ichirou in the other car.

“Wait,” the driver says when he sees Neil move, and Neil immediately drops his hand like he’s been burnt. He glances at Andrew. Andrew shrugs.

The order soon becomes clear when there’s movement from the other car as the driver steps out. He opens the back door, and out steps Ichirou himself. Both of them make their way over to the SUV.

The other driver opens the door on Andrew’s side, and Ichirou gets in, sitting opposite in the middle, so he’s facing both of them. Then the other driver gets into the passenger seat.

So they _are_ outnumbered, but only by one. Neil glances again to the other car. There must be others in there, waiting. Or there’s more waiting out of sight. He can’t get complacent.

But yet again, it’s another concession being made for Neil’s injury. It’s uncharacteristically thoughtful.

Ichirou says nothing at all for an excruciatingly long time, so Neil breaks the silence with a small nod. “My lord,” he says in greeting.

Ichirou returns the nod, the slides his gaze over to Andrew. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

“You didn’t _not_ invite me,” Andrew reasons. “Besides, your driver clearly let you know I intended on coming, and you must have given him the go ahead, as I was allowed into this car with next to no fuss.”

Ichirou almost smiles, but then it disappears again. He looks at Neil’s cast. “That doesn’t look very promising at all.”

“It’s early days,” Neil says tightly. “My recovery has barely begun.”

Ichirou nods. “It’s my understanding thanks to the information I was given by Kevin Day that a recovery from such an injury will be quite a lengthy process.”

“Yes.”

“And that you might not be able to play again in a professional capacity.”

Neil’s heart thunders in his chest. He wants to reach for Andrew’s hand, but he can’t do that here, not with Ichirou watching. He can’t know how frightened Neil is. “That remains to be seen. I won’t have an answer to that question for a year, at least.”

“A year,” Ichirou says. He tilts his head from side to side, like he’s thinking. “That’s a long time to go without any payment from you, Neil.”

“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t be paying you anything in that time.”

That gets Ichirou’s attention. “Oh?”

“I recently received the paycheck for an advertising campaign I did with Nike a couple of months ago. You can have the whole damn thing as a gesture of goodwill, and it’s almost enough to cover the entire amount I’d owe you of my Exy earnings for next season.”

There’s a pause as Ichirou mulls this over. “That’s a start,” he says. “But after that? What if you can’t play anymore? You’re still in debt to my family. I can’t just let that slide.”

Neil swallows down his immediate gut response which would be to say _Well, you can, actually._ “I’m a big enough name now that I get offers for all sorts of things from all sorts of companies. If I needed to, I could get myself a revenue from advertising deals that would be more than enough to cover whatever amount I still owe. I probably would have done that anyway while I can’t play, so if _I’m_ still getting paid, there’s no reason you shouldn’t either.”

Ichirou smiles coldly. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you? You clearly have much to live for.”

“I do, my lord. And, if I may be so bold, killing me would be a negation of our deal on _your_ side.”

“That certainly _is_ bold, Neil. One wonders if you have a death wish that you’d even suggest such a thing,” Ichirou says, eyes flashing.

“Apologies, my lord, I meant no offense. I just meant that back when we first made our deal, you said that if I didn’t make it, you’d execute me. There were no other caveats mentioned.” Neil gestures to his leg. “This doesn’t change the fact that I made it, and that for the last five years I’ve been playing and giving you your eighty percent cut like I promised.”

Ichirou says nothing, but Neil can read the silences now, and he knows he’s backed Ichirou into a corner, trapping him with his own words.

It’s Andrew’s turn to talk.

“Neil’s too big of a name for you to kill quietly now. You can’t do it without it becoming a huge news story, even if you kill me too and get rid of our bodies somewhere they’ll never be found. Neil’s uncle is still in your employ and no doubt would be unhappy over his nephew’s death, which causes discordance in your own ranks. We have people who will suspect what has happened to us if we disappear. There’s even people who will _know_ what’s happened, and who might talk.”

“Kevin Day and Jean Moreau, you mean? They wouldn’t talk,” Ichirou says.

“Maybe not,” Andrew says with a shrug. “But who can be sure? I guess you can, if you killed them too, but then where does it stop? You’d have a string of missing Exy players on your hands. All you’d be doing was creating a conspiracy, and _someone’s_ bound to dig up the truth eventually. And it all starts with Neil, if that’s the road you wanted to take.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything else; he’s made his point. He looks at Neil, and Neil can feel his gaze but he’s still looking at Ichirou, whose expression is inscrutable.

“I don’t think you’d want to risk all of that over someone who still has every intention — and who _will_ have the means — to pay you what your family is owed,” Neil says as his final piece.

All there is to do now is wait.

Neil’s mouth is dry as he watches Ichirou, waiting for his verdict. After a silence of almost a minute, Ichirou leans slightly towards the two drivers in the front seat and says something in Japanese. The one in the passenger seat gets out and waits by the back door.

Ichirou smiles at Neil, and this one is less cold, more vaguely amused. “You two certainly came well prepared. Your uncle told me you wouldn’t go down quietly.”

Neil’s heart leaps to his throat and he thinks he notices Andrew twitch from the corner of his eye, but Ichirou continues before they can move. “Fortunately for both of you, I don’t have any intention of killing either of you. Today,” he adds, in a way that almost seems like a joke except that Neil knows it’s not. “You’ve done as I’ve asked so far, Neil, and you’ve never given me cause to doubt you. As long as that continues, I don’t see why we should have a problem.”

He raps his knuckles against the window, and the driver slides the door open. Ichirou gets one foot out of the door, then seems to make a last minute decision. “Just give me half of your Nike paycheck. Keep the rest.”

Neil, stunned, chokes out, “Why?”

Ichirou shrugs. “I’m not a monster, Neil. Let’s just call it a belated wedding gift. Best wishes in your recovery.”

He leaves. Neil watches through the window as Ichirou and his driver get back into their car, and they drive away first. As soon as they’re out of sight, the driver of the SUV sets off, and for the whole journey back, Neil feels like he’s holding his breath.

He keeps glancing in the rear-view mirror to check that no more suspicious black cars are following, and when he sees nothing untoward he looks studiously out of the windscreen to make sure that they are, in fact, being taken home.

They pull into the parking garage, and Andrew helps an unsteady Neil out of the car with his crutches. They stand and watch as the SUV disappears, and all the while, Neil is convinced that this is one of those incredibly lifelike dreams, born out of Neil’s intense need for this to go his way.

He pinches his arm. He pinches it again.

“Stop that,” Andrew says.

“Is that it?” Neil asks, turning to Andrew and leaning heavily on his crutch. “Is it over?”

Andrew nods. “It appears to be.” Because Neil knows every iteration of Andrew’s face, he can see the relief, even if no one else would notice.

And Neil’s relieved, too. Of course he is. But he’s also irate that he’s been torturing himself when Ichirou apparently never had any intention of killing him. He really thinks a phone-call would have sufficed.

“That fucking—” Neil starts, but finds he’s too angry to even finish the sentence.

“Breathe, Neil. You won.” He smiles. “I knew you would.”

It’s the smile more than anything that calms Neil down. He drops his forehead onto Andrew’s shoulder and feels Andrew press a featherlight kiss to his collarbone.

Neil allows himself a moment to just stand there and breathe Andrew in, and fully let the relief take over from the anger. This isn’t the last time he gets to hold Andrew; there will be many more opportunities. He pulls back, and his voice is a little croaky when he asks, “What now?”

“Now?” Andrew gestures to Neil’s cast. “Now the hard work really begins.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know if i should've mentioned this but this fic is not compliant with the extra-content! but i figured i didn't need to tag that because i don't take anything from the extra content (at least stuff about their futures) as canon anyway -- i tend to pick and choose what i like from it and casually ignore the rest ha.
> 
> also i really do want to have all of the foxes feature at some point or another but i also very clearly have a bias towards allison and kevin so...you can probably expect to see them again.
> 
> anyway thanks for reading and leaving kudos/comments if you do :)


	3. Chapter 3

Neil is snatched from sleep by his phone vibrating noisily on the bedside table beside him. He’s on his back, Andrew’s head pillowed on his chest. Neil’s left arm is wrapped around Andrew, but with his right he reaches out and grabs the offending phone, managing to hit the accept button.

“The cat is officially out of the bag.”

It’s very early in the morning, so Neil feels like he should be forgiven for not knowing what’s going in. He pulls his phone away from his ear and blinks blearily at the display. Allison’s name is on the screen, the time elapsed of the phonecall ticking away. He brings the phone back to his ear.

“… _What?”_

“I said,” Allison says slowly, “the _cat_ is out of the _bag.”_

“What cat?” Neil snaps. He can’t help the irritation; his leg fucking hurts, and besides, it’s _early._ “What _bag?”_

Andrew’s fingers clench in Neil’s t-shirt as he starts to move. If he was more mobile, Neil would have taken the call elsewhere, but as it is, Allison’s early morning wake-up call has to disturb Andrew as well.

“Some unnamed source from the hospital leaked to the press that you and Andrew are married now. It’s all over the sports news sites, and the celebrity news sites, too.”

Admittedly, that wakes Neil up a little. “Oh.”

Andrew grunts a little in tired annoyance and sits up. “What is it?” he asks quietly.

“The press, they know we’re married?” Neil phrases it like a question; he’s still not sure what’s going on. He pushes his phone towards Andrew. “Here, talk to Allison.”

Andrew glares, but takes the phone. He says, “It’s me,” into the receiver and then hoists himself out of the bed and walks out of the bedroom. Neil lies still while he listens to Andrew’s muffled voice as he presumably gets the lay of the land from Allison.

Across the bed on the table beside Andrew’s side, Andrew’s own phone starts to ring, and Neil is hit with the sudden realisation that this is how their day is going to go.

He doesn’t care exactly that the news of his marriage has broken, he just cares that it counts as news at _all._ It’s his. His and Andrew’s, and nobody else’s, and he doesn’t want to have to field all the press interest. Especially when he’s trying to focus on his recovery.

Neil painstakingly drags himself across to Andrew’s side of the bed and checks the caller ID. It’s Nicky, so Neil answers, because Andrew probably won’t call him back.

“Hey.”

“Neil? Is that you?” Nicky sounds panicked and anxious, and is probably calling with the exact same news Allison did.

“Yeah. Andrew’s on the phone to Allison. We already know.”

Nicky sighs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah? I mean, I just woke up and my leg hurts and apparently my business is all over the fucking news, but,” Neil laughs hollowly, “could be worse?”

“Oh, Neil,” Nicky says sadly. “I’m sorry the press are such intrusive assholes. Do you know who leaked it? Do you want me to get a flight over there and kick someone’s ass?”

Neil feels a genuine smile tug at his features; he really loves his friends. “I appreciate the sentiment, Nicky, but you’re good. We’ll deal.”

“Okay. But that’s a standing offer. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

“And get Andrew to call me this weekend?”

“He knows. He will.”

“Awesome. Love you guys.”

“You too, Nicky. Bye.”

Neil hangs up just as Andrew returns to the bedroom, two yowling cats following in his wake. Andrew looks at his phone in Neil’s hand in question.

“Nicky,” Neil says in answer. “Checking we’d heard. He offered to come and kick whoever leaked the info’s ass for us.”

A flicker of amusement crosses Andrew’s face. “Good old Nicky.”

“What else did Allison say?”

“Just that the reports are all saying the leak came from the hospital, there is some speculation as to whether or not it’s true, and a lot of questions being raised over why we haven’t announced it yet. Same old bullshit.”

Within seconds of each other, both Neil's and Andrew’s phones start to ring.

“I’ll confirm it if they ask,” Neil says. “But I’m not doing a press conference about the fact that I got married. We don't owe them shit.”

Andrew declines the call on Neil’s phone, then the one on his own. He turns them both off and crawls back into bed, curling up into Neil’s side.

“Agreed,” he says, and promptly closes his eyes, the cats making themselves comfy in any crevice they can find.

Neil pushes the hair back out of Andrew’s face, content to be with his family.

The rest of the world can wait.

 

*** 

 

Neil does end up having to give a press conference.

Of course, it’s not about the wedding. It’s arranged by the Chicago Devils, and it’s about the injury. Neil agrees to give it under the constraints that Andrew gets to be there, and that no one is allowed to ask about his wedding. They already confirmed to the press through a PR spokesperson for the Devils that the rumours were true, and that’s all they’re prepared to say on the matter.

Neil’s terms are agreed to, but he should’ve known the press can never keep to their word.

At the tail-end of the press conference, after Neil and the Devils management have answered questions regarding the nature of his injury (during which the club reiterated to the press what they had told Neil in private — that they’re backing his recovery all the way and will do anything in their power to help him along so that he can rejoin the starting team at full-health), a reporter named Karen Tweedy who Neil has never liked finally asks her question.

“Why the secrecy about the wedding, Neil?” Her smile is condescending and she's clearly not a bit sorry that’s she’s broken etiquette, and even though he doesn’t have to, Neil’s just annoyed enough to answer her.

“It wasn’t a secret,” he says with faux-cheer. “Just none of your business.”

“No need to be coy, Neil, we’re all friends here,” Karen replies, still smiling.

“Are we? Must have missed that memo,” he says bitingly, and nervous laughter filters throughout the room. A couple of cameras flash in his direction, looking for their money shot for the next day’s papers.

“This press conference isn’t about Neil’s personal life, it’s about his professional career, and you were told beforehand,” Coach Sanders says sternly, and Neil feels a flicker of gratitude, even though they all should have foreseen this happening.

“Oh, of course, but if Neil’s prepared to answer…?” Karen starts, then launches into another question without waiting to see whether or not he _is_ actually prepared to answer. “The lengths you underwent to keep it all under wraps just seem so needlessly unnecessary.”

Neil holds up his left hand, the ring on his finger for all to see. “I’ve been wearing this ever since, so I can’t have been trying _that_ hard. Maybe you’re just not as observant as you think you are.”

Irritation flashes in Karen’s eyes, but she smiles all the same. “All I’m saying is that I’m sure an announcement would have been appreciated by your fans. You’re that media shy about your relationship in general that one wonders why you bothered getting married at all.”

Neil is so furious at the turn the press conference has taken, not to mention the downright nasty tone of Karen's questions, and is seconds away from building up to a patented Neil Josten rant. But then Andrew leans closer to his microphone and speaks for the first time since the conference began.

“We got married because we love each other, Karen,” he says calmly. “If that’s all the questions about Neil’s career, then this is over.” He leans towards Sanders and says, caught by the microphone, “She’s never to be invited back to one of these things as long as I play for this club.”

Sanders nods. “Not a problem.”

The last thing Neil sees as he hobbles out of the room on his crutches, Andrew right by his side, is the expression of pure thunder on Karen’s face.

The headline of one of the sports websites — not Karen Tweedy’s — the following day reads: **We love each other, Karen** , followed by a picture of Andrew speaking into the microphone, Neil looking at him in awe.

Neil screenshots it and emails it directly to Karen herself, along with an attached note which merely says, _There’s your fucking wedding announcement._

“Was that really necessary, Neil?” Andrew asks.

“Yes. It really, really was.”

 

***

 

Near the end of the summer, the Chicago Devils have a compulsory two week training camp which Andrew cannot get out of.

It’s still taking place in the city so he’ll be back in the apartment to sleep every night, but it’s _very_ early starts; it’s _very_ long days. Andrew doesn’t want to leave Neil on his own for that long. Not cooped up in the apartment with no distraction from the thought of Andrew back training with the team while Neil still can’t quite put weight on his bad leg.

“I just won’t go,” Andrew says simply, slicing onions on a chopping board for the stir-fry he’s making.

“You have to,” Neil says from where he’s seated at the kitchen table. He has King in his arms and Sir at his feet.

“What are they gonna do, fire me?”

“Yes,” Neil says with a sigh. “They can absolutely do that if you breach your contract. The training camp’s in the contract. You have to go.”

Andrew knows it’s true, but his priority is Neil. It’s always been Neil.

“I’ll be fine,” Neil says, and Andrew levels him with a glare.

“Thin fucking ice, Neil.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “You getting trouble with the higher-ups helps no one, least of all me. So go. Don’t worry about me.”

Andrew turns back around and starts chopping more vigorously. “That’s an impossibility.”

For a moment, the only sound is King’s loud purring and Andrew chopping vegetables, but then Neil softly says, “Andrew,” and Andrew sighs. He puts the knife down and turns back around.

Neil’s phone is on the table in front of him, and he puts King on the floor and reaches for it. “I could call Coach,” he says, and something about Neil’s tone makes it abundantly clear that Neil means Wymack, and not Sanders. “If I asked…I think if I asked, Coach would let me go down and stay with him and Abby while you’re at the training camp.”

It’s a no-brainer. Wymack, as ever, would go above and beyond for _all_ of his Foxes, current or past. Relatively speaking, this is a small favour.

“Call him,” Andrew says immediately. Being at Palmetto while the current Foxes will be doing pre-season training will be a great distraction for Neil, not to mention Abby can help him with physio stuff.

Neil shrugs awkwardly. “I don’t wanna put him out. He’s got a lot on with the pre-season and I don’t want to get in his way.”

“You won’t be in his way, and you know for a fact that him and Abby will be over the moon to help you out in any way they can. So let them.” Andrew stalks over and takes Neil’s phone from his unresisting hand. He pulls up Wymack’s number and hands it back. “Call him.”

Neil hesitates, then looks up and Andrew. “You think?”

“If you don’t call him then when I’m at the training camp I’m going to have Aaron babysit you.” He kisses Neil on the head, just because he can. “Your choice.”

Andrew returns to his cooking as Neil grumbles under his breath.

A moment later, Andrew hears, “Hi, Coach,” and he suppresses a smile.

 

***

 

They drive down to South Carolina the weekend before the training camp starts in order for Andrew to be able to make it there and back again in time. It’s a very, very, _very_ long way.

Thanks to leaving Chicago early enough on Saturday morning, they arrive at the place Abby and Wymack now live together a little after 6pm. Abby’s prepared a veritable feast, which Andrew and Neil wolf down, before heading to bed early, exhausted from the travel and also wanting to steal as many hours alone as they can before they’re separated for two weeks.

Andrew, who obviously did all the driving, falls asleep first, but he wakes up in the middle of the night to find Neil no longer in bed.

There’s an instant, quiet panic as Andrew reaches a hand out to feel where Neil should be, and it’s still warm. Neil can’t have gone far.

But then he hears, “It’s okay, Andrew, I’m here,” and when his eyes fully adjust he sees Neil standing against the wall, leaning against it, his bad leg stretched out before him.

Neil is not holding his crutches, and Andrew estimates that the wall is about three feet away from Neil’s side of the bed.

“How did you get there?” Andrew asks.

“…I hobbled.”

“Without your crutches?”

Neil nods, then, with all his weight on his good leg, he straightens up as much as he can, and Andrew does not miss the wince.

He’s out of bed and over to Neil’s side in a second. He pulls Neil’s arm over his shoulder, wraps an arm around his waist, and helps him back over to bed. With Neil perched on the edge of the bed, Andrew fetches Neil’s painkillers and a glass of water, and Neil takes them without complaint. He lets Andrew get him settled, and then Andrew gets back into bed as well, lying on his side and facing Neil who is still unable to lie down any way other than on his back.

Neil’s face is very serious and he doesn’t look at Andrew even though he’s clearly aware of Andrew’s attention.

Andrew _could_ lecture him about how stupid it was to test his weight on his leg with no one to spot him, with no support, and in the fucking _dark,_ no less. But he won’t; there’s no point, because Neil already knows that and he did it anyway. Which means there’s a reason why, and if Andrew just _waits,_ then Neil will tell him.

Eventually, Neil reaches out wordlessly for Andrew’s hand, and then he pulls it close to his chest. Andrew shifts closer to make it less of a stretch, and pushes his forehead gently against Neil’s shoulder.

“I know I need help right now,” Neil says at last. “I know that I can ask, because I need the help, and I can do that. I’ve _been_ doing that.”

His voice shakes a little and so Andrew presses a light kiss to Neil’s upper arm in wordless support and encouragement.

“But at a certain point, it’s just me, isn’t it? I’m the only one who can — who can take those fucking steps, who can decide if the pain is the good, healing kind, or if it’s because I’m pushing too hard. And if I don’t push hard _enough_ then I’m doing my muscles just as much damage, and the one who has to decide the balance is _me,_ but what if I get it _wrong?”_

“You’re afraid,” Andrew sums up neatly for him.

“I’m _terrified.”_

Andrew’s been wondering how long it would take Neil to reach this point. Initially — quite rightly — Neil’s fears were all tied up with Ichirou, and whether or not his life was going to be forfeit. After finding out it wasn’t, then there was a brief period of elated relief.

But now, Neil has nothing to think about but his recovery. It’s shaping every decision in his day-to-day, and the added media scrutiny is only making it worse.

Andrew doesn’t consider himself to be a comforting person, but the fact remains that Neil has always (well, not _always)_ taken comfort from Andrew’s presence anyway. He doesn’t have to do much; the smallest of touches can help to ground Neil, get him to breathe easier, help to reassure.

It feels like Neil needs words this time.

Andrew traces Neil’s scars through his t-shirt, so familiar now he knows them better than his own. “Give yourself more credit.”

“With what?”

“You’re an athlete, Neil. You’ll know when something doesn’t feel right. But in the meantime—” Andrew props himself up, leans over Neil and kisses his jaw, “—keep asking for help when you need it. It’s what we’re fucking here for.”

Neil’s face softens immediately. “Yeah, okay. I know.” Andrew raises his eyebrows. “I _know,_ I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be careful.”

There’s a small smile, at last. “I will be. I promise. Abby’ll look after me.”

“Good.” Andrew lowers his head onto Neil’s chest; he’s inordinately comforted by the sound of Neil’s heartbeat. “You _need_ looking after.”

“Hey,” Neil says drowsily, but Andrew can hear the slight smile in his voice.

Neil’s hand finds its way into Andrew’s hair, and he idly runs his fingers through it. Already tired, the action makes Andrew’s eyes droop.

“Go to sleep, Andrew,” Neil whispers. “You’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”

Andrew doesn’t like the reminder, but he sleeps all the same.

 

***

 

The next morning is awful. The time before Andrew absolutely _has_ to leave flies by, and yet simultaneously seems to drag. Neil is quiet and subdued, clearly from impending separation anxiety. Andrew feels the same; he’s just better at hiding it.

They eat breakfast with Wymack and Abby, who seem to sense that Andrew and Neil will be contributing little to the conversation and so talk to each other instead, about the Foxes upcoming season.

It’s such a familiar back and forth that Andrew feels something that’s awfully close to wistfulness for his college days. He wouldn’t go back; he’s worked too hard to get as settled as he is now. But his days at Palmetto were integral to Andrew’s ongoing recovery, and he’s in a good enough place now to recognise that.

In a lot of ways, Wymack saved his life.

His _and_ Neil’s.

After they’ve eaten, Andrew returns to the guest bedroom to grab what little he brought for the brief time he’s been here. As an afterthought, he slips the t-shirt he slept in under Neil’s pillow, because if he can’t _be_ there, then at least Neil can have something of Andrew’s; something of home.

Those who say Andrew doesn’t have a bone of sentimentality in him are those who’ve never seen him with Neil.

He’s about ready to head back to the kitchen and make his goodbyes when Wymack appears in the doorway.

“I know you haven’t got a lot of time, but I just wanted to see how you were before you go.”

Andrew shrugs, unsmiling. “You know me, Coach. Still trucking along.”

Wymack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, alright, wise-ass. I’m just saying I know this isn’t easy on you either, and I know you and Neil don’t like being apart if you can help it, so I appreciate the trust.”

“You earned it,” Andrew says, because it’s true.

He makes towards the door but stops just in front of Wymack. In an undertone, he says, “Look after him for me? He’s not…he’s not okay.”

Wymack nods and gently squeezes Andrew’s shoulder. “He’s in good hands.”

“I know.”

Back in the kitchen, Andrew allows Abby to give him a quick hug goodbye.

“Let us know when you’re home safe,” she says, and Andrew nods.

“I’ll call Neil.”

Neil adjusts his weight on his crutches. “I’ll see you out,” he says.

They walk out to the car in silence, and Andrew’s cursory glance back towards the house tells him that Wymack and Abby have not followed, allowing Neil and Andrew their privacy, as they can always be counted on to do.

Andrew tosses his bag into the trunk then goes back to Neil, standing at the curb. His face looks moments away from crumpling and he drops his head forwards onto Andrew’s shoulder.

Andrew brings a hand up to the back of Neil’s neck and turns his face slightly into Neil’s hair.

“Fuck,” Neil says. “It’s just two fucking weeks, I’m being _stupid.”_

“I get it,” Andrew says. “It feels like your last year again.” He can’t believe he didn’t foresee this; Neil’s last year as a Fox had been fucking awful, full of flying visits and each goodbye more difficult than the last. This is like déjà vu, and Andrew _hates_ it.

Neil looses a breath. “Yes, that’s _exactly_ it, _fuck.”_ He lifts his head up and rests his forehead against Andrew’s. He closes his eyes tight. “I don’t…” he starts, but can’t finish it. He doesn’t need to; Andrew knows the rest of that sentence. _I don’t want you to go._ If Neil had said it for real, Andrew would probably stay.

Which is probably precisely why Neil cut himself off.

“Call me,” Andrew says. “Whenever you need to.” He kisses Neil, his palm over Neil’s heart. “I’ll pick you up in two weeks.”

He’s about to pull away but Neil leans back in, and Andrew lets him. It comforts Neil, and it comforts him. But then it’s over, and Neil nudges Andrew gently. He sounds utterly miserable when he says, “You really have to go.”

Andrew brushes his thumb across Neil’s lips, then abruptly steps away and gets into the driver’s seat.

He starts the car, but as an afterthought, rolls down the passenger side window. He leans across and calls, “Be good,” over the sound of the engine.

He’s rewarded with a shaky smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Andrew drives away, his eyes on the rearview until Neil’s nothing but a dot. Already he feels a dull ache in his chest, but at least he knows why.

It’s because he’s leaving his heart behind.

 

***

 

Within a day of being back at Palmetto, Neil can’t remember any of the reasons why he thought it would be a good idea to come here.

None of the current Foxes are former teammates; those who had been freshmen in Neil’s senior year graduated two years earlier. So to the current line-up, Neil is a legacy. They look at him a little in awe, but there’s so much pity there, too, when they take in the crutches and the laborious way Neil moves with them.

They look at him as if to say, _Oh, how the mighty have fallen,_ and Neil can’t stand it.

His only respites are in the comforting familiarity of Andrew's t-shirt underneath his pillow, and in Wymack and Abby themselves. Wymack treats him in the same gruff, no-nonsense but oh-so grounding manner he always has done, while Abby gives him gentle hugs and cups his cheek and talks to him in tones he’s always struggled to believe he deserves.

But Abby thinks he deserves it, and that’s enough.

The sudden absence of Andrew weighs on him heavily, particularly in the first couple of days. He fills his time sitting in on practices with Wymack and discussing gameplays. It actually helps to talk about Exy in terms that don’t directly affect him; if he’d gone to the training camp with Andrew and had to watch all of his teammates and not participate it would have been absolute torture, but here he’s just old alumni offering a second opinion. He wouldn’t be playing alongside this particular team anyway, and so watching them practice doesn’t make him burn with jealousy.

It _does,_ however, make him think back to his first two years as a Fox, and that makes him ache with a nostalgia so strong that he calls Matt just to hear his voice.

They chat about everything and nothing for a while, and before they hang up, Matt asks, “Are you sure you’re okay, Neil?”

“I’m okay,” Neil says. “All the orange here just made me miss you guys.”

“Aw, buddy! I miss you too! You know you’re always welcome.”

“I know. Same to you. Send my love to Dan and the kids.”

“Will do. Take it easy, Neil.”

“I’ll try.”

Matt laughs. “Liar.” 

When he’s not helping out Wymack, Neil spends time with Abby in her nurse’s office, and she helps him with his physio exercises. They go better on some days than on others, and Neil’s mood fluctuates wildly depending on his pain levels.

Bad days tend to follow sleepless nights, and it’s so goddamn hard to sleep without Andrew.

His weight bearing has become a little bit better every day, but it’s in such tiny increments and it’s fucking _exhausting._

“That’s good, Neil,” Abby says late morning on Friday, almost a week after Neil arrived back in Palmetto. “That’s really good.”

But all it is is a few seconds, just a few seconds that he can bear his own weight before reaching for his crutch again. He’s not sure if it hurts as much as he thinks it does, or if he’s just projecting because he’s scared he’s pushing too far too soon. He can’t risk causing more damage, he _can’t…_

“No,” Neil says, and he can feel the anger bubbling away beneath his skin; he won’t direct it at Abby. “No, I’m done for the day.”

Abby doesn’t try to stop him as he grabs his crutches and limps out the door, but Wymack, who was watching quietly from the corner of the room, follows him out.

He doesn’t encroach on Neil’s space, he’s just a presence; one Neil knows all too well. There’s no point telling Wymack not to follow him, and Neil’s not entirely sure he wants to be on his own anyway.

He doesn’t go to the inner court because he doesn’t want his crutches to scuff up the surface, and instead he sits on the Home bench and drops his crutches on the floor in a satisfying clatter. There’s an errant Exy ball on the floor by the bench and Neil picks it up, throwing it against the outer plexiglass and catching the rebounds.

Wymack watches him for a couple of minutes, then he sits beside him on the bench. When Neil next throws the ball, Wymack catches the rebound first. He turns the ball over in his hands.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me the problem,” Wymack says, and all of a sudden Neil is eighteen years old again on New Year’s Eve, clutching at Wymack’s arm and asking for help.

 _Let me._ All Wymack has _ever_ wanted to do is help.

“I can’t—” Neil starts and stops, grits his teeth, tries again. “I can’t get it back. Not like I was.”

“It is far too early to say that.”

“It’s not. I know myself, I know my body and I know how I feel. I’ll play again, sure. Eventually. But like I did?” Neil shakes his head. “I _can’t.”_

He doesn’t want to look at Wymack yet; he doesn’t want any pity, but when he does glance to the right, pity is not what he finds in Wymack’s eyes.

What he gets instead is passive reasoning.

“Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s suppose that’s true,” Wymack says. “But is that your end goal here?”

Neil scrunches his face up in confused annoyance. “What?”

“Your aim, Neil. You’ve been dealt a shitty, shitty hand here, no doubt about it, but you’re on the mend, and you’re making progress. It’s slow, yes, but it’s there. But are you setting your sights on playing like you could before, or just playing at _all?”_

Neil shrugs, exasperated. “If I can’t play like I could, then what’s the point?” He abruptly wants out of the conversation; he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, he doesn’t want to _think._

But Wymack pushes, because he’s a coach. He’s _Neil’s_ coach, still, after all these years. “Why would you think there’s no point?”

“Because!” Neil explodes, and with his good leg, kicks his crutches across the floor. It’s been a while since he’s felt frustration this potent. “I’ve always been the fastest, I’ve had the quickest reflexes, I’m an intuitive player. That’s what I’m known for, that’s why the backliners don’t like playing me, because they can’t fucking catch me. I’m…” He trails off, his voice becoming hoarse, and just as quickly as it rose in him, the anger starts to ebb away, replaced with quiet despondency.

“I’m a runner, Coach,” he finally gets out. “That’s what made me stand out, it’s what gave me an edge, it’s why teams wanted to sign me. Because I’m fast and I can use that speed to create space and chances and I can score. And yeah, I can get back on my feet, I can…I can probably play again, but I won’t have that same _speed,”_ he says, and when Wymack looks like he’s about to argue, Neil reiterates more firmly: “I _won’t._ And without it, I’m nothing special. I’m just a run-of-the-mill striker. I won’t be first-string anymore — fuck, I’d be lucky to be _second_ — and I’ll never be good enough to play at the Olympics again, with Andrew and Kevin. I bet Allison will make Court next time, too. But not me. I’ll just be… _left.”_

The last point stings, and it’s one Neil had yet to put a voice to, because it feels greedy in a way. He’s already made Court after all; he played for the US team in the Olympics two years earlier and helped them to their victory, and he and Andrew have matching gold medals hanging above their mantelpiece to show for it. It was a long-time dream realised and Neil couldn’t be prouder, and he couldn’t be more grateful. But he’d always envisioned he’d get to go again.

He won’t be fit enough to play in the next Olympics in two years time, it’s out of the question. And by the time the next ones roll around, he’ll be thirty-four, and it’s probable that younger, fitter players will be chosen over him. It’s not out of the question, of course, it’s just _highly_ unlikely. So it’s also unlikely that Kevin and Andrew will still be playing Court by then, too, being even older than Neil.

It’s just that, had Neil known his first time at the Olympics was to be his _only_ time, he might have experienced it differently, savoured it more. He can’t explain it. He wants so much to go back, now he knows he’ll never be able to. It doesn’t make sense.

Wymack’s quiet for a long time before answering, and Neil doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t know what to say to someone in his position. He doesn’t even know what he wants to hear. There doesn’t seem to be anything in the world that would make him feel better, that would make this okay.

“You’re right,” Wymack says, and out of everything he could have said, Neil wasn’t expecting _that._ “I’m not going to downplay your injury for you. That helps no one, least of all you. So you’re right — even when you’re healed, it’s likely that you’ll be carrying your weight differently on that leg. You’ll still have speed, but you probably won’t be the fastest in the game anymore.”

Neil lets loose a laugh even though there’s nothing funny about this; he can feel the panic building in his chest and he wants Andrew. “Coach, I think this is the worst pep-talk you’ve ever given.” He knows Wymack won’t be fooled by his glibness.

“Neil, look at me,” Wymack says calmly, and Neil does, because he trusts Wymack. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Neil argues, but he feels calmer somehow looking at Wymack, a man who has helped keep Neil steady time and time again.

“It is,” Wymack insists, and this time Neil stays silent long enough to hear an explanation. “All it means is that you have a decision to make. Do you want to keep playing even if you might not be the best anymore?”

Neil wrenches his eyes away from Wymack’s face, so he can’t see the reaction when he quietly says, “It’s all I am, Coach. I’m nothing without it.”

It’s been a long, long time since Neil’s thought of himself as nothing.

“That’s the biggest pile of shit I’ve ever heard,” Wymack snaps.

Neil shrugs.

“Tell me you don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know, Coach. Don’t get me wrong, I know that Exy isn’t all I _have._ I have people, like Andrew, and you and Abby, and my Foxes. My — my family. And they’re more important to me than a sport. But if we’re talking about me, individually, then Exy…it’s my _life,_ Coach. It’s what I built my entire identity around. How…how the fuck am I supposed to build a new one?”

“Neil,” Wymack sighs, and he rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger like he’s warding off a migraine, an action so achingly familiar that Neil almost feels like he’s a Fox again, about to get a lecture about mouthing off to the press. It almost makes him smile. “Exy is something you play. It’s a sport, it’s how you make a living. It’s not a fucking personality trait.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You’re such a little asshole. No. It’s not.” He puts his hand on Neil’s shoulder. “I know how much it means to you, and I know this is one of the worst case scenarios for you, and it breaks my heart, kid, it really does. But this doesn’t have to mean the end of your Exy career.”

Neil shrugs again, helplessly. “I’m sorry, Coach, but I just don’t see how.”

“There’s more options in the Exy field than just being a player,” Wymack says pointedly. “And you having been a player _already_ puts you in a good position for other opportunities within the sport.”

Neil lets that sink in, and then he frowns. “Coach, are you telling me I could _coach?”_

It’s Wymack’s turn to shrug. “Among other things.” He stands up, grabs Neil’s crutches from where Neil had kicked them and puts them back within Neil’s reach. “Just think about it, Neil. Don’t take playing again off the table, but keep your options open, too. You have more than you think.”

With that, Wymack turns and heads back to his office.

Neil stays alone on the Home bench for a long time, and when the current Foxes show up for afternoon practices, he stands alongside Wymack, and he watches, and he gives suggestions.

He ignores Wymack’s little knowing smile, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see it.

Later that night he calls Andrew. And he feels a little better.

* * *

 

Andrew somehow loses Neil after the team photo-call.

He’s not too concerned, and it doesn’t take long to find him anyway. He’s in the otherwise deserted hotel lobby watching the highlights of their winning game, a distant smile on his face.

“Hey,” Andrew says, and Neil looks around at him.

“You found me,” Neil replies, and Andrew gestures up at the TV.

“What can I say, Neil, you’re predictable.”

Neil grins sheepishly. “I just wanted to…check. That it wasn’t a dream.”

Andrew steps closer and tugs lightly on the gold medal dangling from Neil’s neck. “Feels pretty real to me.”

Neil takes Andrew’s own medal in his hands and looks at it reverently. “We did it, Andrew,” he whispers. “We _won.”_

Andrew takes a seat beside Neil. “That’s everything off your bucket list, isn’t it? What next, Neil?”

Neil hums it over. He’s still holding onto Andrew’s medal and when he glances back at Andrew’s face he’s got that _look_ in his eyes again, the one Andrew _loves,_ and he needs to get Neil back to their hotel room _immediately._

“What’s next is a new challenge for the next Olympics. We’ll win gold again, but I want the point gap to be bigger. In fact,” Neil says, with a sly look at Andrew, “a shutout would be nice.”

“Oh, so it’s all on me, is it?” Andrew deadpans.

Neil shrugs. “Well, you _asked.”_

Andrew snorts. “Don’t ask for much, do you?”

“I believe in you, that’s all.”

“Uh huh. Alright then, Neil. We make it back to the Olympics in four years time, and I’ll give you your shutout in the final.”

It’s a big promise, in fairness — there’s a lot of variables that go into team selection that might result in neither of them making the cut, although that is unlikely considering how well they’ve just performed. But then again, it’s a way off, and Andrew knows Neil’s only being half serious about it. He can play along.

“What do you want in return?” Neil asks with a grin than implies he knows _exactly_ what Andrew wants.

Neil’s good cheer and excitement is so contagious that Andrew can’t help but smile. He feels uncharacteristically sappy.

“You, Neil,” he says. “Just you.”

Neil’s answering smile is near blinding. “You already _have_ me.” He kisses Andrew on the cheek. “You always will.”

“Alright,” Andrew says, and he takes Neil’s hand and leads him off towards the elevator. “I think that’s enough sentiment for one day.”

“Fair enough,” Neil says easily. “But after we win gold next time I get to be sentimental for two whole days.”

Next time is a long way off; Andrew’s sure he can cope. “Deal.”

* * *

 

The only good thing about the training camp is that it’s intensive and keeps Andrew busy enough to not have to worry about Neil every minute of the day.

It also means he’s exhausted enough to sleep every night.

But that brief window of time when he gets back to the apartment and Neil isn’t there, Andrew’s reminded painfully of right after Neil got hurt, when he was at the hospital and everything was a mess.

Everything’s not a mess anymore; everything’s going to be okay, and Andrew is pretty sure he believes that. But still, he misses Neil, more than he knows how to express.

He had initially suggested Neil take the cats with him, but Neil had insisted they stay to keep Andrew company on the nights when he’s at home, and Andrew’s quietly grateful for their presence. They’re so loud and obnoxious that he can almost convince himself Neil’s still here, and they’re purring at him instead of Andrew.

The apartment seems so much smaller with Neil gone.

Andrew calls him every night, if Neil hasn’t already called first, and they fill each other in on their days. Neil seems to have settled back in okay, and helping Wymack out is obviously proving to be a worthy distraction. He’s more evasive when Andrew asks how the physio’s going, but Andrew expected that. He knows Abby won’t tolerate any shit from Neil, so he can wait until he sees the progress in person before he badgers Neil into being more specific.

There’s the usual small media presence outside the Devils’ training ground as they look for soundbites regarding the upcoming season, but Andrew is largely left alone; it’s the captain and the strikers they want to talk to more than anyone else.

At the tail end of the first week, though, a journalist does get close enough to ask him a couple of questions as Andrew walks to his car.

“How’s the training going without Neil Josten’s presence?”

“It’s quieter,” Andrew says dryly, which earns him a good-natured laugh.

“He hasn’t been seen around lately, though, we thought he might be here with the rest of you. Trouble in paradise already?”

Andrew stops short, and it’s been so long since he’s had to fight this hard to resist throwing a punch. The glare he shoots the journalist is deadly, Andrew can tell by the way he takes a nervous step back. “Neil’s staying with friends while I’m training so that he can focus on his physio away from prying eyes like yours. And you are fucking lucky that you asked me that question instead of him.”

He picks up his pace and stalks back to his car without awaiting a response and drives straight home.

His comments make it onto the web, of course, and Neil calls as soon as he sees. Andrew tells him what happened.

Neil swears. “I would have punched him.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Neil.”

“That’s my line,” Neil says with a light laugh. Then, softer, but more urgent, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Andrew says. “I miss you.” He hasn’t said this many times over the years, even though it’s undoubtedly been true. But sometimes, when you’re apart, feelings need to be verbalised. Bee told him that once.

“I miss you more,” Neil says, because he’s a little shit.

“It’s not a competition.”

“Of course not. But if it was, I’d win.”

Andrew sighs. “I take it back. I don’t miss you at all.”

It’s not a convincing lie.

 

***

The two weeks apart is beyond difficult, but as all things do, it comes to an end.

Andrew makes remarkably good time as he drives down to South Carolina, and Neil has Abby and Wymack’s front door open before Andrew’s even made it out of the car.

That fucking _smile._ Andrew tries to kiss it away but is unsuccessful; he resolves to try again later.

“You’re moving better,” Andrew says as he follows Neil back into the house.

Neil shrugs. “Not really.”

“Neil. You are.” Maybe it’s being away for two weeks, but for Andrew, the difference is noticeable. He’s still on the crutches, obviously, but he does put a little weight on his bad leg every few steps which he couldn’t do at all before.

“Alright, maybe a little,” Neil says, and Andrew will take that, at least for now.

They stay the night again, and the atmosphere is considerably less tense than it was when Andrew had dropped Neil off. Neil’s laughing easier, talking easier, smiling easier. And yes, Andrew has no doubt his presence has something to do with it, but it’s more than that. There’s a renewed hopefulness that wasn't there before.

When Neil is in the bathroom, Andrew looks between Abby and Wymack and says, “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.”

“We didn’t really do anything, Andrew,” Abby says kindly. Andrew doesn’t believe that, but Abby’s always been modest to a fault.

“He just needed a bit of time to see the bigger picture,” Wymack says.

“And has he seen it?” Andrew asks.

Wymack shrugs. “He’s at least seen a part of it. The rest is up to him.”

Andrew watches the door, awaiting Neil’s return.

“He’ll be alright, Andrew,” Wymack says. “Trust me.”

And Andrew does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is LATE and i should have really waited to post this to look it over again with fresh eyes but i just really wanted to post it. it has been edited but it's probable i've missed minor things so please forgive me if i have, i'll find and fix them eventually. i just needed to release this chapter into the wild and get it out of my system? it was a tough one to write, although getting to write stuff involving wymack made me super happy i love him.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to take so long with this final part, i'm sorry! my excuse is that the uk has been going through an apparently NEVERENDING heatwave and it made me lose my ability to do...well, anything. i quite literally lost the plot!
> 
> *ALSO -- no flashbacks in this part although there's lots of little timeskips forward. I hope you enjoy!

Andrew starts the new season without Neil.

Neil makes a point of going to the first game. He sits with the subs and watches his teammates operate a formation that does not involve him. The Devils are down by two goals at half-time, and Neil is _itching_ to play, frowning every time the strikers lose possession or just straight up miss the goal, cataloging everything he would do differently that he knows would yield results. It’s a special kind of torture.

Andrew sat out the first half but goes on for the second, and plays with a ferocity Neil hasn’t seen since a certain Foxes vs Ravens final. He closes the goal down entirely, and the Devils offense manage to score just enough goals to scrape a victory.

Afterward, Coach Sanders — probably in a way that’s meant to be encouraging — says lightly, “We’re missing you out there, Josten.”

“That’s because you’ve got them playing like I’m still on the court,” Neil says, shaking his head in frustration.

“I don’t follow.”

“You haven’t accounted for my absence at _all._ You’ve got the dealers passing up the court without checking where the strikers are because they’re so used to me being able to outrun the backliners and get to the ball first. It won’t happen now — they’re not as fast as me.”

 _“No one’s_ as fast as you,” Sanders points out.

“Exactly. Their strengths lie in other areas and you need to rework your tactics around the players you have on the court, not on the skills of someone who’s on the fucking bench with a broken leg.”

A muscle twitches in Sanders’ jaw, like Neil’s hit a nerve, but then his expression smooths over and he gives Neil a considering look. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“I’ve got a shit-ton of suggestions, Coach, where do you want me to start?”

Out of the corner of Neil’s eye, he sees Andrew smile.

“Come with Andrew to practice on Monday,” Sanders says. “Watch, make notes. Look at it objectively and tell me where you think we’re lacking.”

Neil hesitates for a second, unsure if he’s being thrown a bone because Sanders feels sorry for him, or if his opinion’s actually valued. But in the end, he wants to be involved too much to care.

He nods, Wymack’s words running through his head: _There’s more options in the Exy field than just being a player._

“I’ll be there.”

 

***

 

The thing about the healing process for an injury like Neil’s is that progress is slow until it’s not, and just when he feels like he’s really coming on leaps and bounds, it’s time to get the metal screws taken out, and after that happens, progress _stops._

It’s only temporary, of course. It’s just like another mini-recovery from surgery, but it’s enough to send Neil spiraling, both due to the boredom of suddenly being essentially immobile again, and due to the fear that at any moment his leg is going to fall off.

Andrew calls him a drama queen, more than once. But he also pulls Neil back from the brink more than once, in whatever way Neil needs him to in each particular moment.

It passes. He gets back on his crutches.

He endures, like he has always done.

 

***

 

Neil and Andrew host the annual Foxes Christmas get-together. They’d been in New York the year before, at Allison’s lavish apartment. Neil and Andrew’s place is nowhere near as fancy, but it’s at least roomy enough.

The last time everyone was here was for the small wedding reception they’d held back in February, before Neil had ever even hurt his leg. And this is still a happy occasion; it’s not like it’s a wake or anything, but _still,_ it’s a difference that Neil can’t stop noticing. Back then, he was at the height of his game with absolutely no idea what lay ahead. He couldn’t have imagined that he’d be nearing the end of the year having missed half the season and with no end in sight.

Regardless, it’s been a good night so far. Curled up on the window seat in the living room, a drunken Allison is treating a smiling Renee to an off-key rendition of _All I Want For Christmas Is You._ Andrew and Aaron are chatting quietly on the sofa, and everyone else is in the kitchen. They set up a beer-pong table in there where Kevin has been holding court for hours with a varying rotation of competitors. Currently, he’s up against Erik; Nicky, Dan, Katelyn and Matt all watch on as willing cheerleaders.

Neil uses everyone’s distraction to sneak out to the balcony. There’s two chairs out there, a table with an ashtray on it between them, and a portable heater in the corner. Neil switches it on and then sinks into one of the chairs, propping his crutch up against the railing. He stretches his bad leg out and sighs.

He’s only been out there a couple of minutes when the door behind him slides open.

“Hey,” Matt says, dropping into the empty chair, bottle of beer in hand. “Needed a breather?”

Neil smiles. “Something like that.”

Matt’s eyes drop to Neil’s leg. “Is it bothering you?”

“Almost always,” Neil says wryly, then shrugs. “It aches. It’s a pain in the ass, but y’know. It is what it is.”

“That sucks, man, I’m sorry,” Matt says with a frown. “The physio’s going good though?”

“That’s what they tell me. I dunno, they’re saying I’m making really good progress but it’s hard to judge that for myself when I’ve never had to recover from anything this serious before.” He shrugs again. “But at least I don’t need the crutches all the time now, so that’s something.”

“That’s a lot, Neil, give yourself some credit,” Matt says seriously. “How’s the coaching stuff been going?”

This is something Neil’s actually happy to talk about and he can feel himself light up. “Good. Awesome, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s like...Exy’s always been my thing, but even though I can’t play right now I can still actually help my team, and I’ve seen them take on what I’ve said, and I’ve seen it yield results. That feels fucking awesome, Matt, not gonna lie.”

Matt grins at him. “I thought you’d have a knack for it, to be honest. I always figured you’d go into coaching eventually anyway.”

“Really?” Neil looks over at Matt, and his friend shrugs. “Why?”

“Come on, Neil, you were my captain for a year. You’re a great leader and a great teacher and you know Exy so well. It just makes sense. It’s a good fit.”

Neil nods. “I guess. I do miss playing, though.”

“I know.”

“Do you miss it? Exy?”

Matt hums thoughtfully before answering. “Well, sure, there’s _parts_ of it I miss.”

Matt stopped playing pro four years earlier, shortly after the birth of his and Dan’s first child. Now, he’s a stay at home dad, but he runs a weekly boxing class for kids at a local gym, while Dan works as an assistant coach for a college team whilst still eyeing Wymack’s job for whenever he’s ready to retire.

“Was it a hard decision to quit?” Neil asks.

“Neil,” Matt says, “it was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

Neil tilts his head to the side, wordlessly asking for clarification, and Matt sighs.

He takes a swig of his beer. “It’s like…okay, so I got signed and I graduated and it was all exciting and everything, but I was so busy and Dan was so busy that it felt like I hardly ever got to see her. Which, y’know, I thought I’d be prepared for because we’d spent my last year at PSU apart, but suddenly everything was just... _magnified._ The distance felt so much more when I was out of college somehow.”

That part Neil _does_ understand, because he remembers all too well the time he and Andrew spent on separate teams. It’s not a period of his life that he’d ever wish to revisit.

“And Dan was coaching college teams so it’s not like I ever could have ended up playing for her team anyway. And I was just _miserable,_ man, and I started to resent Exy in general. When Dan got pregnant, it was an absolute no-brainer to just finish out the season and then retire at the end of it. Dan’s got her own Exy related dreams, but being a pro-player? I thought it was for a while, but now I don’t think it was ever really my like, big-picture _dream,_ y’know?” He shrugs. “I think maybe I’ve just always wanted to be a dad. I’ve never looked back.”

Neil watches Matt for a moment before looking out over the Chicago skyline, the lights of the city bright and shining and never sleeping. They never see the stars at night from here; he and Andrew often drive out late at night in search of them, usually when the nightmares hit one of them particularly hard.

He considers the prospect of _choosing_ to give up Exy, and shakes his head; he can’t relate. “I don’t get that.”

Matt laughs quietly, but not unkindly. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But Exy’s always meant something different for you than it has for me.”

Exy’s always meant something different to Neil than it has to _anyone,_ so that’s fair.

Matt nudges Neil gently in the arm. “Why did you ask, anyway? Are you thinking about retiring?”

“No, no. I can’t quit before I even know if I can make it back from injury or not. It’s just…” He trails off, because he’s not sure he wants to finish the sentence.

“It’s just what?” Matt prompts gently.

Neil trusts Matt. “It’s just that I’m having to ask myself if I’ll be okay if it turns out that retiring is my only choice.”

There’s a silence, and then Matt quietly asks, “Will you?”

Neil shrugs expansively. “I don’t know yet. I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge if I come to it?”

“It’s still too early to say,” Matt says encouragingly. “The important thing is that whatever happens with your recovery, you have options.”

Neil smiles wryly. “That’s what Wymack said.”

“Well he’s very wise, you should listen to him. And you should listen to me.” He grins. “And you should listen to your _heart.”_

Neil snatches the beer out of Matt’s hands. “Alright, alright, you’re cut off.”

“Ha. Come on, let’s go back in. It’s cold as balls out here.” He stands.

“Help me up?” Neil asks, reaching out.

Matt clasps his hand and pulls Neil to his feet. “Anytime, buddy.”

 

***

 

By New Year’s Eve, Nicky and Erik have already returned to Germany, and Aaron and Katelyn are both working, which means Neil and Andrew get to ring in the new year quietly.

It’s definitely how Andrew prefers it.

Christmas has never exactly been a good time of year for him _or_ Neil, but it’s at least busy enough to provide ample distraction. And Christmas Day itself was one of the better ones Andrew’s had, spent at Aaron’s place, so at least he was amongst family. Nicky made a Tiny Tim joke in reference to Neil and his crutch which caught Neil completely off guard and had him laughing so hard he cried. It was the most Andrew had seen Neil laugh in ages.

So yeah, Christmas was…nice.

But it’s nicer still to spend New Year’s Eve with just Neil and the cats, so that they can both recharge after the draining experience of having to be social for extended periods of time.

Currently, Neil is lying flat on his back on the floor in the living room, letting the cats crawl all over him. Andrew’s curled up on the sofa playing Angry Birds on his phone. They haven’t spoken much all evening, but it’s not uncomfortable. They’re alone together, which is a whole lot preferable to being alone _alone._

Andrew makes it through four levels when Neil suddenly sits bolt upright, unbalancing Sir and sending him skittering away. “What time is it?”

“Ten to twelve.”

Getting up is clearly too much effort at the moment, so instead Neil uses his hands to help scoot himself backwards until he’s leaning against the sofa right in front of Andrew. He grabs the remote off the table and turns on the TV.

“I want to watch the ball drop,” he says. He finds the right channel then tosses aside the remote, and leans his head back against Andrew’s knee while he waits. Andrew starts absent-mindedly stroking Neil’s hair, and Neil hums contentedly.

“What do you want to watch this for?”

“I’m going to make a wish.”

“Resolution,” Andrew corrects.

“Shit, yeah. That’s what I meant.”

On screen, the countdown starts, and Neil reaches his hand behind him without turning; Andrew twines their fingers together.

When it hits twelve, Neil goes still, and Andrew can’t _quite_ tell from this angle but he thinks Neil’s eyes might be closed.

A couple of seconds later, Neil relaxes, and tilts his head right back, looking at Andrew upside down.

“Done?” Andrew asks.

“Done.”

He won’t ask what Neil’s resolution was, because if Neil wanted to divulge that he would have done so already.

Neil pouts up at Andrew, which looks hilariously adorable upside down. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Andrew shrugs, but quirks a smile. “Well, alright,” he says, like it’s a huge imposition. He cups Neil’s face in his hands and leans down, the topsy-turvy angle of it making Neil laugh into the kiss. Andrew will kiss him properly later, but for now, it’ll do.

He pulls back.

Neil lifts his head up, then twists around, resting his arms on Andrew’s lap and his chin on his arms. “Happy New Year, Andrew.”

Andrew thinks back on the previous year. It’s been a struggle, and if he were a wishing man, he might send a silent word out to whoever’s listening not to throw anymore shit their way. But then again, if Andrew’s taking the bad of the year, he’s got to take the good as well. He got married, which he’d never envisioned happening in a million years. It’s a charmed life.

“Happy New Year, Neil.”

 

***

 

Andrew’s on a break at non-compulsory practice when he gets the call about the Olympics.

It’s not like it’s a surprise that the US Court want him on the squad again, but he still doesn’t have an immediate answer for them. They allow him forty-eight hours to think about it before they have to offer his spot to someone else.

Neil’s back to very, _very_ light practice, which means he isn’t allowed to go to non-compulsory practices yet. Regardless, he didn’t come to watch today as the Devil’s need to sign a new backliner and he’s taken it upon himself to pore over the upcoming graduates from NCAA Exy teams. Upper management are finding Neil’s insight to be invaluable, and Andrew knows for a fact there’s a couple of seniors on the Foxes’ roster that have caught Neil’s attention.

Andrew considers calling Neil to let him know the news but decides he’d rather tell him in person, so he can see his face and his reaction first hand. He cuts out of practice early.

When Andrew gets home, he finds Neil asleep in the living room. He’s laying across the full length of the sofa, his head lolled back on the armrest, mouth open as he gently snores. His left arm is dangling over the edge towards where an Exy magazine lies, dropped haphazardly on the floor. Falling asleep was clearly unintentional.

There’s something about seeing Neil like this that almost hurts. Something about how vulnerable he seems, how young he looks in sleep, about how Andrew’s the only one privy to this side of him. It’s an ache, somewhere deep inside Andrew’s chest, an overwhelming feeling of, well, _love,_ so potent it almost makes his breath hitch.

Neil _so_ wanted to go to the Olympics again.

Abruptly irritated, and honestly, so fucking _sad,_ Andrew drops his duffel noisily to the floor, and Neil’s head snaps up.

“I’m awake,” he says blearily when he clocks Andrew.

“I see that,” Andrew replies, and he sits on the coffee table, facing Neil. He gets straight to the point. “I got a call today about Court. About the Olympics.”

Neil’s face lights up. “They want you?” Then he shakes his head, admonishing himself. “Of course they do, you still have the best stats in the league.”

“I haven’t given them an answer yet.”

Neil’s eyes widen in surprise for a second, but then he schools his expression and nods. “Okay,” he says carefully.

Andrew waits to see if Neil will ask why, but he doesn’t. “I have a couple of days before I have to let them know.”

“Generous of them.” Neil’s watching Andrew shrewdly; what he’s hoping to glean from Andrew’s expression, Andrew’s not sure. He’s more interested in finding out how Neil _really_ feels about it all.

There’s no chance at all that they’ll ask Neil to play. He won’t be back to full practices until at _least_ halfway through the next season, and there’s no way of knowing yet whether he’ll see any game-time at all. The US Court won’t take the risk that his fitness will be back to where it should be. That isn’t Andrew being negative; it’s just being practical.

“I don’t have to go,” he tells Neil.

“No,” Neil agrees. “Not if you don’t want to.” He very clearly doesn’t want to sway the decision in any way. He probably doesn’t want Andrew to think he shouldn’t go just because Neil can’t. He also probably doesn’t want Andrew to think he should go just because Neil would _want_ him to. Because regardless of how frustrated Neil will undoubtedly be at his inability to compete, he’ll _definitely_ still want Andrew to go, even if he’s a little sad about it.

Andrew shrugs. “Exactly. So maybe I don’t want to.”

The smile that appears on Neil’s face is barely there, just a whisper of a thing, but that doesn’t make it any less true. “I think you do.”

Andrew huffs a sigh. “I think you’re confusing me with Kevin.”

 _“Andrew.”_ It’s Neil’s turn to sigh. “Is this about me?”

“Not everything is about you,” Andrew says dryly. _Just most things are,_ he doesn’t add.

“I know that,” Neil says patiently. He reaches across and fiddles with the hem of Andrew’s t-shirt so that he doesn’t have to meet Andrew’s eyes. “But is _this?”_

Annoyance prickles through Andrew; he’s not angry at Neil — never at Neil — but he’s angry in general and Neil’s in the vicinity. Gently, he disentangles Neil’s hands from his t-shirt and stands up.

He briskly walks over to the window seat and sits heavily down over there, crossing his arms in what he’s hoping appears less petulant than it feels. Neil is still watching, waiting patiently for Andrew to spit out whatever the problem is, but Andrew’s not even sure he can articulate it.

It’s just that he’s never really been frustrated on anyone else’s behalf before. He’s always had his own way of helping the people he cares about, but he _can’t_ help Neil here. He can’t magically fix Neil’s leg. He can’t do anything.

“Do you even remember what you said to me after we won gold?” Andrew asks at last. “When I found you in the lobby watching the highlights?”

Neil’s expression completely shutters, and his voice is dangerously quiet when he says, “Every goddamn word.”

Everything said in the aftermath of their previous gold-medal winning victory had been framed in a way that implied they’d both be back. One of Neil’s dreams — that he’d once thought he wouldn’t live to see — had been realised, but there was supposed to be a next time; a different country, a different challenge. A _new_ dream.

And they were supposed to do it together.

Andrew speaks slowly, picking his words with care, and trying to keep his frustration out of his tone. “I don’t understand how you’d just be okay with me going without you. Court’s always been _your_ thing.”

Neil sighs and he’s clearly just as frustrated as Andrew is. “It’s not like I’m stoked about the fact that I can’t play, Andrew. But I can acknowledge that my own situation sucks and still be happy for you that you got offered the opportunity to go, if you want it.” King chooses that moment to slink into the living room and she stands in front the sofa, meowing imploringly up at Neil. He ignores her, which just goes to show how serious he is. “If the only thing keeping you from saying yes is me, then it’s a non-issue. Okay?”

Andrew doesn’t have an immediate answer, but he nods in acknowledgment of the point Neil’s making. King gives up bothering Neil and heads over to Andrew instead, jumping up next to him and stepping onto his lap. She stretches up and buts under his chin with her head. He lets her, stroking her absently, and then she settles down in his lap and he lets her do that, too. Maybe it’s nice to have her there. Andrew never thought he’d get used to the cats, but he did. He never thought he’d get used to a lot of things.

The silence drags, which would ordinarily be fine. Neil and Andrew have always done silence well. But they also know when more words are needed, and Neil clearly thinks they’re needed here. He’s working up to something, Andrew can tell. It’s in his posture. It’s in the way he can’t keep his hands still.

He gets it out eventually.

“Does it mean less, if I’m not there?”

Andrew hesitates, then inclines his head once.

Neil considers this, and then says, “Does that mean it’s completely worthless if I’m not?”

Andrew looks at Neil, then away, then settles on Neil again. “No,” he says. “Not worthless.”

He’s well past the point where he pretends Exy is anything other than a way to kill time now. Neil knows that Andrew likes it, and more importantly, Andrew knows. He’s better now than when he was in college. He tries harder. He has more honed skill to go with his raw instinct and natural affinity for the sport. He’s better, and he likes that he’s better, and it’s not just about Neil anymore.

But that doesn’t mean that Neil isn’t inextricably tied up in almost all of Andrew’s Exy-related emotions and memories.

Nothing is straightforward.

“I’m going to say yes,” Andrew says at last.

Neil smiles encouragingly. “Okay. Good. I’m glad.”

“Are you?”

“Fuck you. Yes.”

Neil gets up slowly, and he walks over to Andrew. He limps a bit because he’s been lying still for too long and his leg’s gone stiff — he limps in the mornings too — but he’s walking unaided. His intent is clear and Andrew unceremoniously pushes King off his lap and onto the floor, and opens his arms a little in invitation.

Neil sits side-long in Andrew’s lap, draping an arm around Andrew’s shoulders for balance. Andrew loosely locks his own arms around Neil’s waist automatically and tilts his face up to Neil, who kisses him, smiling into it.

“Have I told you I’m proud of you today?” Neil asks when he pulls back. “Because I am.”

“Well, you have now,” Andrew grumbles, chasing Neil’s lips for another kiss. He likes it like this, when there’s no urgency to it. It’s just soft and easy and familiar. Just another part of their day. Routine, in the best possible way.

“It’ll be nice, in a way,” Neil says. “Last time I got to compete and enjoy the Olympics from that point of view, plus I got to win. This time, I’ll get to enjoy it not only as a spectator, but from being married to the starting goalie. That’s awesome. I get to be a proud husband.”

Andrew turns his face into Neil’s chest to suppress his own smile, and he feels Neil’s arms tighten slightly around him. He’s not sure who’s comforting who. “You’re going to be stressed beyond belief watching.”

“Probably. I’m still excited though.”

“There’s still over a year to go. Calm down, junkie.”

“Asshole,” Neil says fondly.

Andrew removes his face from Neil’s chest and looks up at him. The afternoon sun is hitting the side of Neil’s face just right, bringing out the auburn in his hair even more than normal and he blinks those blue eyes slowly back down at Andrew.

He wants to tell Neil a lot of things; that he’s brave, and strong, and a better man than he ever gives himself credit for. He wants to tell Neil that everything is going to be okay, even though he doesn’t know if that’s true. He won’t give Neil a false promise, as tempting as it might be.

“I love you,” Andrew says instead, because that _is_ true, and they both _know_ it’s true. But just because it isn’t something they say to each other every day, it’s important for Neil to hear it. Neil deserves to have someone who can tell him that they love him. And Andrew _does._

Neil smiles lazily. “I love _you,”_ he replies, and Andrew smiles back.

 

***

 

Of course, the whole issue becomes redundant when Neil receives his own phone-call from the head-coach of the US Court a couple of weeks later.

“We’ve seen the positive effect you’ve had as coaching staff with the Devils, and we’d love to have you come aboard as 2nd Assistant Manager for the Olympic team. We believe you have the ability to help bring out the best in the players.”

Neil’s unsure whether they mean the players as a group or Andrew specifically. Maybe Andrew _will_ play better with Neil an integral part of the team and staff. Maybe not. Neil doesn’t care if there’s an ulterior motive here.

Whatever the reason, Neil will take it.

“I’ll do it.”

 

***

 

It’s a long road to the Olympics, and yet somehow it arrives in no time at all.

Kevin, Andrew, and Jeremy Knox are the only three players still on the roster from the previous Olympics, but Allison got a call-up this time as well. The rest of the team is made up of various players from the top teams in the league. Neil knows some of them fairly well (or as well as he ever knows any opponents), but others are virtual unknowns, especially the younger members of the team.

He’s wary that he’s not going to be listened to, as he is by far the youngest and most inexperienced of the coaching staff. He feels like it has the potential to be a repeat of his second year at PSU when a couple of the freshmen had not been shy about voicing their displeasure over Neil’s position as vice-captain. But he brought them in line eventually, and he can do that here.

It helps that Kevin, Andrew, Jeremy, and Allison defer to Neil without question, and that the senior coaching staff clearly respect and value his opinion. They hired him, after all.

So all in all, it runs a lot more smoothly than Neil expects it to.

They’re the favourites going into the Olympics which makes Neil uneasy, because upsets happen all the time, especially when expectations are so high. But he’s done his research, he’s helped his team prepare for each and every opponent, and they win their opening couple of games easily.

Neil starts to enjoy himself. Renee, Wymack, and Abby are there to watch all of the matches, and the rest of the Foxes have all vowed to fly in for the final should they make it there. Neil is so busy and the results so rewarding that he doesn’t even have a chance to lament the fact that he’s not actually playing.

Up until the night before the final, that is.

It’ll be USA vs Canada (who narrowly beat out France — captained by Jean Moreau — in their semi-final). Canada are good. _Really_ good, and Neil’s a bundle of nerves about it.

Canada have fast backliners, is the problem. The only person who would be able to out-pace them is...well, _Neil._

Except _not_ Neil. Not anymore. As if to remind him, his leg starts to ache, a side effect of being on his feet all day.

He’s quiet until he and Andrew go to bed, but he doesn’t really sleep, even after Andrew’s breathing levels out. He gets up in the middle of the night and sits at the desk in their hotel room, using the light on his phone to make obsessive notes and gameplans.

He’s not sure whether it’s the light or the scratching of his pencil that wakes Andrew, but he hears rustling behind him as Andrew gets up and comes over.

“Go back to bed,” Neil says. “You have a big day tomorrow.”

“So do you,” Andrew returns easily. He looks over Neil’s shoulder at what he’s doing, but his expression doesn’t change from tired passivity.

“It’s a bit late for a new gameplan, Neil.”

“Kevin and Jeremy aren’t fast enough to outrun the Canadian backliners, so they’ll have to do more passes off the court walls.”

“They know.”

“They’re going to have to be hyper-aware of where each other are all the time so they don’t waste passes, and make best use of the space.”

“They know.”

“And—”

 _“Neil,”_ Andrew says, a little firmer. He takes Neil’s shaking hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. “They know. We all know where we need to be, and where our opponent’s strengths and weaknesses are. You’ve prepared us for this.”

Neil looses a breath. He nods. Then he whispers, “I wish I was going out there with you tomorrow.” It’s easier to admit in the middle of the night.

“Neil,” Andrew says in the soft tone that he only _ever_ uses on Neil, “you’re right there with us.” Neil doesn’t think he’ll be able to respond to that without getting choked up, so he says nothing, and after a moment Andrew pulls lightly on the hand he’s still holding. “Come back to bed.”

Neil allows himself to be led away. Sleep still takes a while, but with Andrew’s warm arm heavy around him, he nods off eventually.

He feels better in the morning. He stands by while the head-coach gives the squad a rousing pep-talk over breakfast (he’s got nothing on Wymack, but Neil supposes that no one really does), and he oversees a light warm-up.

In the final hour before match-time, Neil once again goes over the finer details with the squad, reiterating to the strikers yet again to take into account the superior speed of the backliners and adjust their passing and shots accordingly.

“We’ve got this,” Jeremy says with a serious nod. As team captain, his optimism is contagious, and Kevin even manages a grin.

“Fuck yeah, we do,” Allison adds.

“We do,” Kevin agrees, then shoots a look at Neil. “You’ve trained us well, _Coach.”_

If Neil didn’t know Kevin as well as he does, he might think he’s being mocked. As it is, he does and he isn’t. He smiles.

“Alright, assholes, hands in.” Everyone huddles around and puts their hands in the circle. With one notable exception. Neil looks over his shoulder and smiles patiently. “You too, Andrew.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, but comes over. He places his hand over Neils, and Neil doesn’t miss the way he subtly brushes his thumb across Neil’s wedding ring.

“Alright,” Andrew says. “Let’s win or whatever.”

“That’s the spirit,” Allison says, grinning fiercely.

Andrew sits out the first half and watches with everyone else on the bench. Anyone else might think he looks bored, but Neil knows better. Andrew’s apparent disinterest is a tactic all on its own.

He’s watching the strikers, learning their shots, marking their mannerisms and habits, so he can use it to his advantage when it’s his turn in goal.

When the half-time bell goes, Canada are one goal ahead. It’s not a sustainable lead, so Neil’s not _too_ worried, but there’s still a knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

The team line up outside the court doors ready to file back onto the inner court for the second half, and Neil makes his way down the line, hyping the players up as he goes. Andrew’s right at the back as usual, and he doesn’t really require hyping up.

Neil doesn’t expect Andrew to say anything when Neil reaches him, but he does.

“If memory serves, I promised you a shutout.”

Neil blinks, confused for half a second, but then he grins. The anxiety evaporates immediately. “You’re right. I’m pretty sure you did.”

He leans closer so no one will overhear. “And then when we win gold, I believe I bargained for two whole days of sentimentality.”

Andrew flashes a smile. “I’m feeling generous, Neil. Have three.”

With the world watching, the US team file onto the court, and Neil thinks that perhaps it’s not so bad standing on the sidelines if this is the view.

 

* * *

 

 

_~Epilogue~_

 

 

Sunday evenings are always good for drives.

Of course, _any_ time is good for a drive as far as Andrew is concerned, particularly if Neil is with him. But there is something about Sunday drives specifically that feels particularly poignant.

It’s been two years, five months, three weeks, and two days since Neil broke his leg. Today, he’s sitting in the passenger seat, humming along to the song on the radio as he looks down at his phone and responds to a message on his phone. Andrew flicks him a glance and then refocuses on the road.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Allison,” Neil says, then puts his phone back in his pocket. He doesn’t elaborate.

Andrew’s loathe to appear like he’s interested, but unfortunately, he is, even if it’s just a little bit. “What did she say?”

Neil’s still grinning. “I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”

Andrew thinks on that for a minute. The way Neil has phrased it makes it sound like it’s a surprise for _Andrew,_ which is obviously not the case. With a little more thought it’s clearly a surprise for Renee, and if Andrew’s not allowed to know, it’s probably under the (ridiculous) delusion that he’d tell her. If Neil’s grinning, it’s probably not a bad surprise, and seeing as Renee’s birthday has already been and gone…

“Allison’s going to propose.”

There’s a moment of absolute silence and then Neil throws his hands up in disbelief. “How do you _do_ that?”

Andrew merely shrugs, and Neil rolls his eyes.

“Okay, but you can’t say anything to Renee, okay? Allison might actually murder me. She’s got this planned to a tee.”

“It’s not going to be one of those horribly public proposals, is it? Flash mob style?”

Neil frowns distastefully. “Of course not. It’ll be just the two of them.”

“Then I won’t breathe a word. Allison can rest easy.”

A few minutes later, Andrew pulls into a deserted parking lot and parks facing the lake. They get out and climb onto the hood, and Andrew pulls his cigarettes out of his pocket. He smokes less these days, but it’s still not a habit he’s kicked entirely.

He offers one to Neil, who shakes his head. “I’ll share yours,” he says, which makes Andrew roll his eyes, but it’s not like he’s going to refuse.

He lights up and they sit in comfortable silence as Andrew smokes half his cigarette. Then he hands it to Neil and lies down, one arm tucked under his head. They still don’t speak, but Neil finds Andrew’s hand and holds it until the cigarette is spent.

He flicks it away and lies down next to Andrew.

“You played well yesterday,” Andrew says, and Neil hums in non-committal agreement.

Neil’s still on the subs bench for now, not quite fit enough to play full-halves. The truth is that the leg’s a problem still. It’s weaker. It’s a little stiff. Neil has to be so much more careful not to hurt himself than he used to be. But the important thing is that he _can_ still play and he’s still so _good._

He was brought on in the closing minutes of last night’s game and scored the winning goal to the roaring cheers of a home crowd. The triumphant grin on his face as he celebrated is still on Andrew’s mind.

He’s so proud of how far Neil has come.

Everyone knows he’ll never be quite what he was. It was always a risk and it’s clear that it’s the case, but Neil at least now confidently says that he’s at peace with that. Seeing as Neil doesn’t lie to Andrew anymore, Andrew’s inclined to believe him. And most days, he definitely _seems_ at peace with it. There’s always frustrations, and he certainly bemoans the loss of speed, but on the whole? He’s good. Andrew’s watching close enough to tell.

Not to mention that the coaching jobs he did while he was unable to play have done wonders for his ever-expanding resume, and so when he retires as a player for good, it’s a pretty safe bet that he’ll have offers.

What Andrew decides to do post-Exy is a riddle yet to be solved, and one he doesn’t like to think about in too much detail just yet. But whatever it is he’ll figure it out, likely with Neil’s help. They have time.

For now, they have their accomplishments, professional and personal. They have two gold medals at home, and there’s a third, newer one hanging in Andrew’s locker at the Chicago Devils’ stadium. They have their friends and family, their cats.

They have each other.

“It’s a good life, Andrew,” Neil says, turning to Andrew. His face is shining in the glow of the setting sun, a half smile on his face. “Don’t you think?”

Andrew rolls towards Neil, cupping his cheek. He gently runs the pad of his thumb across the fragile skin beneath Neil’s eye. Under his hand, Andrew can feel the scar tissue of Neil’s burns, long since healed. Neil looks calm, and he looks content, and he inches closer.

Andrew closes his eyes, leans in, and kisses Neil.

He doesn’t have to answer. Neil already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading/kudosing/commenting if you did/do!
> 
> i'd like to apologise again for any inaccuracies/inconsistencies regarding medical recovery stuff -- i tried to avoid talking about the physical stuff as much as possible to avoid being TOO wrong but if i was i hope it wasn't too off-putting. also i have no idea how the olympic selection process goes. also i feel like it would probably be a conflict of interest for neil to be appointed as coaching staff for a team his husband plays for? but i did it anyway.
> 
> here is a mini-playlist of songs i had in mind for each chapter (there's more but these are the important ones):  
> chapter 1 -- terrified by isaac gracie  
> chapter 2 -- Never Say Die by CHVRCHES  
> chapter 3 -- The Bones of You by Elbow (which is also the song i named the fic after)  
> chapter 4 -- Tender by Blur
> 
> find me on tumblr @emmerrr if you want :)


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